Fulfilled
by zarabithia
Summary: Sequel to Unfulfilled. The Archer and Tucker Families are Reunited.EPILOGUE COMPLETE.
1. Maggie's Lament

Fulfilled 

Rating: PG-13  

Disclaimer: I don't own _Star Trek_, any of its sequels or its prequel.  Theoretically, I suppose I own Charlie, Maggie, and Koval. But neither they nor their parents are making me any money in this fic, so please don't sue. 

Codes: sort of A/T'P,  mostly T'P/Tu . Angst.  

Summary: Sequel to _Unfulfilled_. Probably won't make any sense unless you read that one first. The Archer and Tucker families are reunited. 

A/N:  Remember, this is a completely A/U version of how things might have gone, beginning in the Expanse. Also, not beta'ed, so mistakes are acknowledged and apologized for in advance. 

~~

Part I: Maggie's lament 

~~

When I was a little girl, I loved to hear my father read to me. Most people can't really fathom that – Admiral Malcolm Reed, tactical genius and commander extraordinaire, reading bedtime stories while curled up next to a teddy bear and little girl in pink slippers.  

Yes, I liked the color pink once.  What can I say? It took a while to grow into my current persona. Besides, Dad likes to say it was my way of rebellion.  Mom appreciates that I got it out of my system early on. 

Still, for those that don't know my father well, I can see why it would be a humorous image. What they usually fail to take into consideration Dad's gentle nature – few people know that side of the Great Admiral Reed.  They also fail to realize that my father's idea of a proper bedtime story was far from _Goldilocks, _or _The Three Little Pigs. _ Some little girls got the Brothers Grim or Aesop.  For me it Shakespeare and Joyce.  It was nothing less than the classics.  From what I've since discerned, three of the four share an unhealthy appreciation for ghosts and witches. 

Oh, the perfection of the bedtime story world.   Sometimes I long for the simplicity of that world – ghosts and witches be damned.  In that utopia, there are protagonists and antagonists and with such characters, clearly defined degrees of right and wrong, with no use for prickly shades of gray. Unfortunately, the real world isn't always like that.  People may try their hardest and still wind up doing the exact opposite of what they _should _do. 

On nights like tonight, however, I find that difficult to remember.  My unborn son's acrobatics and his father sleeping by my side both make me inclined to believe that the binary of protagonists and antagonists is absolutely correct. 

It is only at night that I can dwell upon such thoughts.  Given that Koval and I are bonded, my thoughts – and feelings – disturb him too much during the day.  At night, as long as he is asleep, and as long as I don't allow myself to become _too _emotional. That's not usually a hard task.  After all, being married to a Vulcan can teach you a lot about self control. 

If you're willing to listen.  Unlike, say, a certain former Captain of the _Enterprise_. 

I shouldn't be so hard on Archer, of course. He does love Koval.  As my dear grandfather Reed so aptly demonstrated, just because you don't show it doesn't mean you don't feel it.  And unlike Grandfather Reed, Archer has the added problem of the "Off the Pedestal Syndrome" that came with the decommissioning of his ship. It's a condition that is increasing each year, as the number of  retired Starfleet Captains grows. Not everyone that sits in the center chair is affected – Dad and Unc. . . um, Trip, never were – but enough that they warn about it during the command courses at the Academy now. 

Sadly, Archer has been affected by it in the worst way.  Although he holds one of the highest positions possible within Starfleet hierarchy, he is bound and determined to think of himself as "deskbound." Some days, I feel sympathy for his condition, other days I rage at him for his foolishness.  On nights like tonight, I simply pity him, for he has no conception of how bad things really are.  

It's also on nights like tonight that I can't help but be a little angry at my mother-in-law, for her strict adherence to logic, and at Trip, for being so brash.  But I suppose that isn't fair. After all, T'Pol is a Vulcan, and Trip, well, from the stories my father's told, Trip used to be synonymous with the word impetuous.  It's not a side of him ever seen by Charlie, Koval, or myself. But, perhaps he finally learned his lesson.  Many think _that _Trip Tucker died with Elizabeth Tucker.  I personally believed he died on my in-laws wedding day.  

It's a shame.  From what I've heard, I think I would have liked to have known the old Charles Tucker III, brashness and all. 

Trip's personality change was not the only suffering he's endured since then.  My mother and father have a happy marriage.  Travis and Chianna have a happy marriage, which may be the only alternative when you're married to a Betazoid.  Hoshi and her second husband, Dr. Shanks, have a lovely marriage, which might only be expected when a brilliant linguist marries a brilliant archeologist.   

But Trip and Natalie? Even before their divorce, it was obvious that their partnership was nothing more than an . . . amicable companionship. 

And of course, my in-laws' marriage is the very antithesis of what a happy marriage should be. I know from my bond with Koval that his father primarily lays the blame on his mother for the lackluster marriage.  Yet, I sometimes must resist the urge to shake Archer, and ask him why the hell he never bothered to ask T'Pol to explain the change of heart she must have had early on in their marriage. 

As for my mother-in-law. . . it would be easy to dismiss her pain and lay the blame at her feet. After all, she did marry Archer. No one forced her to, and to be honest, the reasons she gave Koval don't make entirely a lot of sense. Even if Trip did reject her, why marry Archer? Why not find someone else. . . someone she could actually love? Oops, Vulcans don't like that word. Someone she could cherish, then? There's a piece of the puzzle missing, but the hell if I'm going to search around for it.  The entire situation is entirely too fragile.  As much of a cliché as it is, it's a genuine house of cards. On nights like tonight, I grow fearful of the deepness of my breathes, for fear that somehow they will disrupt the carefully flimsy home, bring all the cards tumbling down, and destroying everyone in the process.

Illogical, huh? I'd better learn to curb _that _type of thought if I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a Vulcan, even a half Vulcan. 

On nights like this one, I wonder if maybe I'm going crazy.  And now I realize why Shakespeare's antagonists far outweighed the protagonists.  

At the same time. . . was Macbeth a protagonist or an antagonist? 

Koval stirs in his sleep and I glance down to look at him, to gaze upon that beautiful face and those lovely Vulcan features that I love so much. And they are so very Vulcan.  With his eyes closed, there is not one discernable trait from Koval's father. But how could Archer not wonder whenever Koval opened his eyes where those heavenly blue eyes came from? How could he not _see? _

Maybe because he had no reason to suspect.  He does not share with T'Pol that which I do with my husband.  My husband in fact, did not want to bond with me.  He was afraid of all the information that I would learn – about Trip, T'Pol, and Archer – and scared that it would change my opinion of him. 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

_"I want a Vulcan ceremony."_

_"That is impossible, beloved."_

_"Why?"_

_"It is complicated."_

_"It's my wedding, you're a Vulcan, and I want a Vulcan ceremony. How can it be more complicated than that?" _

_"A Vulcan ceremony would have to be done in secrecy, and none of our family members could attend. Is that truly the memory you want for your wedding?"_

_"The solution is simple. We have a secret Vulcan wedding, and a public 'human' wedding."_

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Koval had continued to give me the run-around.  I finally got tired of it and went to T'Pol, figuring she'd give me a straight answer.  She didn't, of course. Still, a week after I spoke to her, Koval had changed his mind.  I refuse to believe the timing was a coincidence.  

Of course, once I bonded with Koval I realized that, in fact, it was only the circumstances that necessitated the Vulcan wedding to be 'private.' Through the bond I also felt the flood of conflicting emotions from Koval concerning his parents.  He holds an incredible amount of love for Trip, T'Pol, and Archer.  Yet, that love is compounded by the guilt and a determination not to consciously hurt any of them any more than they already have been. I suppose that's the reason for the truce between Koval and Archer that came so unexpectedly during my husband's senior year. 

And I'll be eternally grateful to T'Pol for what she did.  The bond I share with my husband is nothing short of amazing.  There aren't words powerful enough in the human vocabulary to describe the feeling. Hah, probably because the bond isn't _supposed _to be described by humans. Regardless, the utter joy and contentment that I receive from the bond is greater than any other I have ever known.  There simply can't exist an equal to the shared feeling of mirth crossing our minds in daytime conversation or the shared feeling of enjoyment during sex.  Knowing how and what Koval feels and vice versa creates a harmony many married couples may strive towards, but few actually achieve. 

It's only when I remember to pause and take this into consideration that I realize the scope of what T'Pol gave up when she married Archer and chose not to bond.  From what Koval has told me, Vulcans look forward to the bonding ceremony from the time they are fourteen and first told of it.  Nearly all of their lives they strive towards this goal of joining minds permanently with their mate.  Hell, it's so entrenched into their way of life that there is no Vulcan word for "husband" or "wife." One literally has to use the term for "bondmate" to describe one's spouse in the native Vulcan language. 

I can't imagine what T'Pol must have thought – what she must have viewed so important as to feel it was worth it to toss that opportunity out the airlock.  The depth of her aloneness frightens me, here in the dark, and I can't suppress the shiver that overcomes me. 

*_Maggie_?*  I have disturbed my husband's sleep.  The gentle caress of his voice in my head again reminds me of the absence of such a caress in T'Pol's life and I feel more than a twinge of guilt at my earlier judgments. She'll never know this feeling, this reassurance, this _love. _How can she, until Archer dies? But there is no need to disturb my husband further.  

_*It is okay, Koval.  The baby just kicked a little hard. Go back to sleep.*_

_*You are certain?*_

_*Yes.*_

I wait until I am certain that he has gone back to sleep before I continue to let my mind wander.  It wanders out of our quarters, down the hall to the turbolift and up to B deck, where two of the people my child will call grandparents reside next door to the one my child will not name as grandparent, but holds that right as much as my own parents do.  It is probably the visit of Ambassador T'Pol, Admiral Archer, and Commissioner Tucker that has brought on this night of contemplation.  Or perhaps the dread that I will accompany two of them home to Earth to finishing waiting on my son to be born is what is keeping me awake.  They arrived only today, and have had little chance to wreck havoc on any of our lives – yet. Trip was tired, T'Pol wanted to meditate, and the Admiral spent a good deal of time talking with the Captain.  

Despite the warmer temperatures of this room that Koval prefers, I shiver for the second time tonight.  Determined to get some sleep, I wrap my arm around Koval and pull the covers as snugly as they will fit. I also try not to feel hostile towards the Federation for needing all three of their votes on their recent legislative measure.  

In an effort to try to relax, I try not to focus on my child's heritage, but instead on the joys that he will bring to Koval and myself. There's no doubting our son will have equally strong memories of bedtime stories, as both Koval and I were read to frequently as children and will no doubt pass that tradition onto our child.  One of Koval's favorites is _Charlotte's Web. _ Koval has fond memories of his mother reading it to him as a child.  I don't typically have anything against the story, but tonight I find fault in the message of positive results from weaving in a spider's web.  I don't believe we shall share that particular story with our son. Given his heritage, "a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive" seems much more . . . appropriate. 

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Oh, have no fear, Maggie's chapter is just necessary set-up.  So, yes, there's a lot you already knew from the last story, but hey, she didn't get a POV that time around. 

Feedback is good.


	2. Lineages Revisited: Trip's POV

Fulfilled

~~

Part II Lineages Revisited: Trip's POV        

~~~

It's hard to believe I've spent five years on the Kowl colony.  Five years away from Earth and everyone I love.  

True, I haven't been completely out of touch.  I still regularly hear from Charlie and Koval – thank God. When I first made the decision to come out here, my chief concern was that I would lose the precious relationships I had with the boys. 'Course, it's a double-edged sword.  Every time I hear from Charlie or Koval, I think of their mommas.  And when I think of their mommas, I think of all the hurt I caused to both Natalie and T'Pol. Not on purpose.  But I've thought about it a lot over the past five years that I've spent nearly alone, and I've come to the realization that whether or not I _meant _to hurt them is pretty irrelevant. After all, I _did _hurt them, regardless of my intentions. 

And we all know what they say about the road to hell? If you ask me, it's pretty damn accurate.  

Oh, maybe that's being a bit too pessimistic.  My whole life isn't hell.  Most days I live a perfectly normal life – and I don't even start to notice how alone I am until I walk through the front door of my increasingly lonely apartment. Daytime's simply too busy, after all.  Being a Commissioner of a newly formed Federation Colony is pretty tough work.  I have to jump back and forth between being an administrator and diplomat, and neither one's exactly my strong point.  It really requires someone with a bit more . .  . 

~~**~~

"Patience?" 

_"Are you inferrin' that I am impatient, Malcolm?"_

_"Not at all, Trip.  I'm stating that you are impatient." _

~~**~~

Good old Malcolm. We keep in touch, too, but not nearly often enough.   I really miss him sometimes.  Just last week, I had a nasty leak on the roof – these damn colonies aren't quite as technologically sufficient as the ones closer to Earth – and it was really more than I could take on by my own.  My neighbor, Billy Daystrom, ended up helping me.  Nice guy, that Billy. Reminds me a little of Malcolm too. Maybe that's why I asked him.  It certainly wasn't due to his construction expertise. 

It's funny, how I can be so far away from Earth, and so close to the neutral zone, yet have so many reminders of what I'd left behind. I suppose that's not a coincidence.

But regardless of the occasional reminders of home, I live a relatively content life.  Not quite the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that I had imagined when I used to dream about how my life would end up, but I can keep busy.  And busy is good enough of a distracter that sometimes I'm able to forget, if not completely forgive myself for, what might have been. 

Naturally, of course, something had to happen to change that.  Does anyone really think we're going to amend the Federation charter just to appease one planet? If we were, then what the hell would be the point of the damn thing? I don't really know why they need me anyway.  They already have one of the most well known Ambassadors and an equally famous Admiral at their disposal. Maybe someone at Starfleet hates me. Or maybe it goes higher up than Starfleet. Maybe somebody upstairs decided I haven't done enough penance for all the people I've hurt in the past twenty-four years. 

Regardless of the culprit, here I am. Stuck at this damn table, eating food that might as well be ground Rigerian slugs, with company that can only serve as a reminder of all the mistakes I've made.  And our location, especially this table, has no other purpose than to prompt memories of another Captain's Table.  And that thought is certainly not one I need to dwell upon – after all, it was after the Captain's table became an unwelcome spot for me, and a courting ground for the Captain and T'Pol, that my life truly started its downward spiral. 

Now's really not the time to think about that. I can't help but be relieved when Captain Sheldon decides to end my dismal musings with his characteristic chipperness.

"Ah, what a lovely sight.  Two memorable family reunions" he states, gesturing widely with his hands.  I can't help but wonder if the aliens he comes in first contact with have as much difficulty resisting the urge to roll their eyes as I do.  

Then again, he probably doesn't say anything to them that cuts as close to the core as what he just said to us.  I shouldn't fault him for his words, anyway.  It's not his fault he doesn't know how much they hurt.  It's not his fault he doesn't know it should be _one _memorable family reunion, instead of two. Nope, it's not his fault at all. It's all mine.

"There are those who would contend that such closeness strains the productivity of a starship," T'Pol remarks.   

Productivity, T'Pol? Nah. Happiness? Quite possibly.  God, she's still so beautiful. She literally hasn't appeared to age a day.  Whatever happened to time heals all wounds? What foolish bastard ever came up with that saying? Probably the same one that came up with "it's better to have loved and to have lost. . . "

Momentarily, my mind wanders to Ishta, one of my neighbors on Kowl.  She's a perfectly nice woman, really, and she's asked me out once or twice.  I haven't said yes, but I've been thinking I might.  Not because I'm in any way ready to forget T'Pol – that will never happen, I'm  certain – but because, as the saying goes, I'm not getting any younger. Is it really wrong to want someone sweet to spend my final days with? 

But looking at T'Pol, I wonder just what the hell I was thinking.  Such a proposition would be unfair to Ishta, whom I'm certain doesn't want to play second fiddle. Then I guess I'm resigned to die alone.  A morbid thought, but whose to say I don't deserve it? Certainly not me. 

"I don't know, T'Pol, between you and me and Maggie's parents, I'd say _Enterprise _got along just fine," Admiral Archer comments. 

If you only knew.  But, of course, he doesn't. Isn't that what I spent so much effort trying to prevent? I know that it was. Yet sitting here this morning, I can't help but wonder why.  It should be blatantly obvious to anyone how unhappy T'Pol and Archer are, just from the tension in that last little exchange.  Glancing from the Captain and the kids, I can tell that I'm right. 

But the Captain's a smooth one.  Sensing the tension in the air, he completely ignores both a high ranking Admiral and a well respected Ambassador.  Good thing for him that Starfleet never was much of a military organization, though there are those that are pushing for it. Given the Xindi Conflict and the Romulan War, that's probably no surprise. 

"But there's nothing I wouldn't do for our Enterprise babies, here," the Captain says, gesturing towards Koval, Maggie, and Charlie.  I don't bother to suppress the grin that comes across my face, in spite of my somber mood.  "Why you should have seen the faces of Koval, Maggie, and Chuckie when I told them the three of you were coming aboard. They were positively thrilled.  Especially Chuckie, as I recall." 

Chuckie? I spare a glance over at my oldest son, who grimaces in return. Starfleet is enough of a military organization for him not to express how he feels about that particular nickname.  He doesn't have to, of course. Everyone here – outside of the Captain – already saw a similar reaction, fifteen years ago involving one Uncle Pete.  It was nasty, and invoked the wrath of Natalie.  Happily for Charlie, both Koval and I were on his side, which meant his grounding meant very little. 

Moving from Chuckie's scowl, I steal a glance at my youngest son.   He looks a little more like his momma every day.  That's a good thing, I suppose, as the Admiral would wonder if he came out with blonde hair.  Still, though, I can't help but ponder the possibility that it's more divine punishment. I wonder if Vulcans believe in any type of God or gods? They probably don't think it's logical, so He – or they – can't be the ones punishing me.  Maybe it's the Vissian ones.  

At least Archer gets to suffer a little too.  He may get the family I want – the one that should be mine – but they'll never look like him. Ever. Those are _my _blue eyes. 

Getting petty in my old age, aren't I?  Well, if you're approaching your sixties and aren't allowed a few liberties, I don't know when you can have them. 

Regardless of whom he looks like, my second son is happy.  No, make that ecstatic.  I'm glad he's found with Maggie the type of happiness neither his momma nor I were ever allowed to have. I'm glad they're happy.  I really, really am.  So glad, in fact, that I won't think about the tiny baby that's going to be here in about six months that I won't be able to hold as much as I should.  Why think about it? Haven't I already lived that life? 

Somewhat belatedly, I realize the Admiral is talking.  Whoops.  

" . . . to hear another Starfleet Captain have such an informal relationship with his senior crew," the Admiral says.  "Starfleet is becoming more and more military with each passing day."

"That it is," Captain Sheldon admits noncommittally.  

"Starfleet is a vastly different organization than it was during our years of exploration," T'Pol points out, proving she can disagree as easily as her husband.  I'm glad to hear it.  I always liked feisty T'Pol the best. 

"Yes, T'Pol, I know.  Back then, we actually did _exploring,_" Archer retorts bitterly, and I find myself biting my tongue. Hard.  "In a lot of ways, I'm glad Dad isn't around to see what Starfleet has become.  It's a complete mockery of every dream he ever had."

 "Your Dad didn't know about the Xindi, Romulans, or Klingons," I rejoin, surprised to hear the words leave my own mouth.  Guess I wasn't biting hard enough.  I make a mental note to double my efforts. 

The Admiral clearly wasn't expecting to hear that come from me.   He shoots me a curious glance, as though he is remembering that I'm there for the first time.  Well, it's probable.   "You are in favor of the new Starfleet, then?" he asks.  There's a challenge in that voice, probably a sign that I should shut up.  I ignore it. 

"I'm in favor of the Federation – including Earth – being amply protected," I respond. "If that means increased militarization, then I'm all for it."  

"Really?  Given your experiences, I would have thought you'd be the last one in favor of an increased military presence," Archer remarks, oh so snidely, as he takes a casual drink of his orange juice.  

Biting my tongue even harder, I respond, "You were wrong." 

"Gentlemen," T'Pol interrupts our conversation, ever the diplomat, "Perhaps a more prudent conversation would be a discussion of the impending liaison with the Corridians."  

Shrugging, I offer the same opinion I've held since Starfleet first asked me to join the diplomatic team. "I think the whole trip there is pretty pointless.  We can't very well go around changin' the Federation law every time a planet disapproves." 

"I've never known you to be so unbending when it comes to rules.  It's pretty fortunate for you that Starfleet hasn't always held that policy." We may not have the same solid friendship that we used to, but I like to think there's still _something _there.  Apparently, not.  I guess I was wrong. It hits me that the friendship I had sacrificed everything for is dead.  

I didn't think it was possible to feel so alone.  And I've had plenty of experience being alone, on Kowl. 

No one's talking now.  I suppose after that little spat, no one really wants to.  My son, my wonderful first born, with the social graces of his momma, decides to break the silence. "Well, Koval, have you and Maggie decided on any names yet?" 

My second born cocks his head as he looks at his wife – his dear, beloved wife – and appears to muse the question over. "No, we have not."

Maggie takes over.  "It has to be special.  Vulcan children are frequently named after someone special in their parents' lives."

"Well, not always.  We didn't know anyone named Koval," the Admiral remarks.  Alternately degrees of pity, guilt,  and irritation wash over me, and I can't help but wince.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie give me a funny look, but I ignore it.  

"It's a Vulcan tradition that Koval – and _I – _wish to observe," Maggie informs the Admiral.  As feisty as her dad, that one.  Koval chose a damn good woman. 

"Charles is a good name," Charlie suggests.  

"It would be an illogical choice for our child," Koval argues. 

My first born manages a heartbroken expression. "Why's that? Not Vulcan enough?"

"It is undoubtedly a human name," Koval agrees, "However, that is not the name's flaw."

"Flaw? What flaw does my name have?" Charlie demands.  I suppose he inherited that trait from me.  I'll certainly admit to more than my fair share of . . .zeal during my youth. 

"You," Koval deadpans, which garners a shocked look from Charlie. 

Again in spite of my self, I can't help but chuckle.  I venture a look at T'Pol, who, to my delight, is also doing her patented  non-smile.  It's been awhile since I've seen it, and that's not the only reason I'm glad to see it. She's just confirmed my long held suspicion that she used to get pleasure from the confusion she used to cause us on _Enterprise. _

"Don't you think that naming out son 'Charlie,' would be just one Charlie too many?" Maggie demands.  

"Well, there'd only be two of us," Charlie argues.  "After all, no one calls Dad 'Charlie,' or Charles, or anything close."

"Yes, _Chuckie_," Koval answers, with the same Vulcan non-smile tugging on his lips as his mother has. "But what exactly do you plan on calling Charles Tucker V?" 

The look that comes across Charlie's face is priceless. Apparently, his first born is not something he's ever contemplated.  The question has the surprising – and rare – ability to render Charlie speechless for a moment.  Then he shrugs, and offers, "We can call him Number Five for short, your son can be Charles, and I can be _Charlie." _

"Number Five?" Koval asks, eyebrows to his hairline.  "Somehow I do not believe your future son would appreciate being given the nickname of a numerical unit." 

"Speaking of the number five," Captain Sheldon's chipper voice interrupts the discussion, "I believe that's approximately how many minutes we have to get to our posts before our shift starts."  He seems only amused at my sons' conversation, not in the least disturbed at the squabblings of his tactical officer, engineer, and pilot.  

"Four point five," Koval corrects as we stand, ignoring the Captain's laugh in response, as  he turns to me and asks, "Trip, I believe both of my parents have already seen the ship, but you have not. Perhaps this evening after dinner you would appreciate a tour, from the engineer's perspective?"

And from son to father.  "Engineer to engineer?  I couldn't imagine a better way, Koval."   He nods his assent, and I watch him leave with Maggie and Charlie, who attempts to engage once again in the 'logic' of naming their child after him.  Archer follows the Captain, no doubt with the intention of bugging him all day on the bridge.  Somewhat belatedly, I realize that I am alone with T'Pol. 

I'm sure there's something appropriate to say in these circumstances, but I'll be damned if I know what it is.  After what seems like years of an uncomfortable silence, but in reality can only be a couple minutes, T'Pol speaks.

"I apologize for the Admiral's comments." 

"There's no need, T'Pol."

"He hurt you." 

"I've lived with a lot worse pain. I take it things between you haven't improved?"

"No, they have not.  In fact. . ."

"In fact what?"

"I believe he has developed affection for another."

Bastard.  How he can have what I want so bad, and just toss it away. . . yet, I can't exactly point fingers.  After all, I did the same thing twenty-five years ago. But it damn well wasn't because I had "affection for another."

  "I'm sorry, T'Pol." 

"There is no need, Charles."

I offer her a grin, and we walk in companionable silence to the turbolift. I can't help but think how nice it feels just to be able to walk by her side.  It's funny how such a little thing like that make me so happy.  At least, until I remember why it's so rare.  

It's while we're in the turbolift that I realize just how much I don't want to go back to my lonely quarters – alone. I've spent five years virtually alone, after all.  I'm not sure how I come up with the courage to do so, but I tell T'Pol there are some diplomatic concerns on Kowl that I'd like her advice on.  She agrees to offer whatever help she can, and I follow her to her quarters.  

We spend the day together, under the guise of philosophical musings about diplomacy.  Bah. The farmers are going to get their water, whether the cattle ranchers like it or not.  I wonder briefly if  T'Pol realizes just how much bullshit I'm feeding her. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't.  Regardless, I am rewarded every now and then with her non-smile, and that heavenly eyebrow raise.  The moments of utter joy and contentment are juxtaposed next to intense feelings of guilt and longing. The hours fly by, and soon T'Pol rises, and makes plans to leave.  

"Koval will be here soon for your tour of the ship."

"He and Maggie look so happy, T'Pol." 

"Most recently wed couples are prone to display affection for one another." 

"Yeah, I guess so.  But they look even more happy than I would expect, if that makes sense. Kind of . . . happy and content." 

The pause seems to last a lifetime, and when T'Pol speaks again, I understand instantly why she took so long in responding. "Koval and Maggie have bonded. They are joined in every conceivable manner and are mates in the truest sense.  Their harmonious existence shall know no deceit, no secrets, no pretense.  They are now, and shall always be, bondmates."

"Until death they do part."

"Perhaps longer." 

Somehow that's entirely too easy to believe. 

"I really enjoyed seeing you again, T'Pol.  It will take us another week to get to our destination. Maybe tomorrow. . . ?" I trail off, not entirely certain how to finish my thought. I'm entirely too old to be feeling like I'm a teenage boy all over again, trying to find the nerve to ask Melissa to dance.  

"Charles," T'Pol says softly, and I know instinctually that she's going to tell me no, "Circumstances have not changed between us.  I am still bound to Jonathan."

It hurts even worse to hear her say it out loud. "I understand, T'Pol." 

"No, I do not believe you do."  

"It's not that hard to understand, T'Pol."  Nope, sure isn't.  I fell in love with you, screwed up, and lost you to my best friend.  What's there to understand? 

"Charles, I do not abstain from your presence because I do not appreciate your company," T'Pol protests. "Your presence is comforting, more so than it should be."  

"I understand, T'Pol.  I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"However," she continues, ignoring me completely, "your presence is also considerably . . . disconcerting.  I find myself struggling to remain in control."

"And I understand how important it is for a Vulcan to remain in control," I interrupt her. "So, I _do_ understand." 

I turn and walk away from her, to take advantage of the view of the stars outside my quarters.  The sight of them rushing by would normally make me feel more than nostalgic.  Somehow tonight, they have very little meaning. 

I expect T'Pol to leave.  Instead, I feel her hand touch my shoulder.  And she thinks _she _has difficulty controlling herself? 

She waits until I turn to look at her to speak.  "It has been some time since Jonathan and I were . . . intimate.  That too threatens my capacity for control, and I do not speak of daily emotions."

It takes me a minute to understand just what she _is _speaking of.  "Oh. . . pon far?" 

She nods. "I have never experienced the cycle in my time with Jonathan.  Such a phenomenon is not unknown.  Among my people, those that engage in frequent . . . activity, along with severe amounts of meditation are sometimes able to obtain freedom from the cycle.  I have known both during my time with Jonathan."

"Are ya experiencin' any . . . symptoms?"  It's funny that we should both treat it as a disease, when it's responsible for the only time we ever really shared together.

"No, not yet.  However, given my current celibacy, it is inevitable that it will return.  Meditation will help to keep it at bay; giving into emotional wants will hasten its arrival." 

That makes sense, I guess. As much sense as any "mate or die" disease could. "What do ya plan to do when . . . when meditation can't keep it at bay any longer?"

She glances down at the question, and withdraws her hand from where it has rested on my shoulder. " I have contemplated that question for four years, Charles.  I still do not have an appropriate answer."

"One that won't cause considerable havoc to everyone we both know?" 

She graces me with a non-smile and nods.  "Perhaps now you _do _understand."

I nod.  Unfortunately, yes I do.  "You'd better go, then.  I _am _sorry, T'Pol – if I had known, I wouldn't have wasted your time with Kowl's diplomatic squabbles."

"I do not consider time spent with you 'wasted,' Charles. I must meditate, however, immediately."           

T'Pol is not gone for five minutes when I hear the door chime.  Expecting my son to be there when I open the door, I am surprised to see the one person I have no desire to see following T'Pol's visit. 

"Hello, Trip. Do you have a minute?"

Well, what am I supposed to say? "Sure, Admiral, come on in."

~~~

To Be Continued. . . . 


	3. Contrition: Archer's POV

Fulfilled 

_~~~_

Part III

Contrition 

Archer's POV 

~~~~~

 "Hello, Trip. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, Admiral, come on in."  

As I step into Trip's quarters, I think about how much roomier quarters on _Prometheus _are than they used to be on _Enterprise. _They're even divided somewhat into compartments, whereas ours used to be little more than a large square with a desk and bed crammed into it.  

 Trip's particular quarters look especially large, given the meager decorations .   Other than the clothes hanging in his closet, Trip apparently brought only three items with him.  Two PADDs and a lone framed photograph sit atop his desk.  It's funny, they seem so . . . secluded. Actually, that's a pretty good description of how Trip's entire quarters feel.  On _Enterprise _they were never this empty.  He'd always made an effort to keep them clean, but they were filled to the brim with books, PADDS, photographs.  I can't fight the wave of sadness that washes over me, when I remember that there was a time that I knew exactly where each of those  photographs went, and on which shelf.  Now. . . well, now I don't even know _who _is in the only one he feels the need to have on his desk. 

Curiously, I walk over to his desk to examine the photograph.  It's a picture of Charlie, Trip, T'Pol, Koval, Maggie, and me taken five and a half years ago, just after Koval's high school graduation. 

"Admiral?  Is there something you wanted?" Trip asks.  He sounds agitated, I notice.  After the way I treated him this morning, I don't blame him. 

"Nice picture," I offer, sitting it back down on the desk and turning to face Trip.  

"Yeah. . . "  Trip stops for a moment.  I wait, hoping he'll say more.  I still don't know how to say what I came here to say in the first place.  The longer I can postpone it, the better.  Apparently, he hears my silent plea.  Or maybe he's just trying to fill the uncomfortable silence between us.  Uncomfortable silence.  Once, we could have sat for hours without saying a word watching water polo, which is far from the loudest sport in existence.  What happened to that security? That friendship?

Regardless of what happened to it, Trip decides to continue.  "Well, I always keep that one pretty close to my bed.  It's the first one I see when I wake up, and the last one I see 'afore I go to bed.  Just in case tomorrow doesn't see fit to show up."  

"That's kind of morbid, Trip."

He offers a shrug. "Maybe.  Maybe it's just honest, Admiral."

Another uncomfortable silence passes between us, as I try to remember the last time he called me something besides my rank.  "Trip, do you remember our last visit to Cochrane Memorial Park?"   

He seems somewhat taken aback by my question, but nods.  Hesitant.  So hesitant. "It was the night before our assignment to _Enterprise." _

I perch somewhat uncomfortably on the edge of his desk. "Yep.  I'll never forget how excited we both were."  He gives the slightest of smiles.  It's incredible how much that smile warms my heart.  I'll freely admit how much I miss it - and him.  "It was also the last time you called me 'Jon.'"  

The smile disappears and is soon replaced by a confused look.  Even in his advanced age, the puzzled expression is enough to drag up the feelings of protection that I've tried so hard to suppress, ever since The Incident.  The Incident that changed my perception of Trip.  The very same incident that cracked a decade long friendship. It still makes me shiver, when I think about it. So I try not to.  

"Well, Jon, what brings you here tonight?"  There's not a trace of bitterness in that tone. . . just exhaustion.   

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning. It wasn't . . . I didn't mean what I said, and I certainly didn't mean to hurt you."   

"Does it really matter if you mean it?" 

That takes me by surprise. "What?" 

"Never mind.  Apology accepted."  

I wonder briefly if his previous comment meant something more significant, but he sounds sincere enough, so I let it go. After all, I came here to apologize - and explain myself - not to cause further agitation than  necessary.  "It's just . . . well, I spoke to Malcolm before we left, and he mentioned that it'd been a couple weeks since he'd heard from you."  

My hands have become increasingly interesting as Trip only stares at me uncomprehendingly, as if he can't begin to understand how that relates to anything.  I fight back the hurt that struggles to surface, and explain quietly, "It's been a lot longer than a couple weeks for me, Trip." 

Is that ever an understatement.  The man I have always considered my best friend has not been in contact even _once _in the entire five years since he left Earth.  

"Well, ya know, Admiral, I've been pretty busy." 

Not two minutes have passed and we're back to Admiral?  Can't I ever go back to being just Jon again?

"But not too busy for Malcolm. Not too busy for Travis.  Not too busy for Hoshi. Not too busy for Phlox."  

Trip pauses for a moment before answering.  Again, the silence is unbearable. 

"Did ya talk to all of them before ya left?" 

"Yes.  I keep in touch with all of my former senior staff."  I bite back 'except for you.'  I figure it's implied.  

"I never heard from you either, Admiral."

I bite back the assuredly paranoid delusion that Trip is doing it on purpose. Just habit, right? And old habits die hard. "You're the one that left, Trip.  I expected you to be the one that kept in touch."

"You never asked me to." 

"I didn't realize I had to.  I thought it should be glaringly obvious to anyone how much your leaving was affecting me."

Trip leans back on the bed, balancing his weight on the palm of his hands and regards me for a couple minutes.  "It wasn't to me."

I let the sigh escape and turn my gaze towards the stars that rush past.  They've always offered me calm, and they don't disappoint tonight.  "Your leaving. . . felt like a knife to the gut, Trip.  My life was - is - going to hell, my son left home, my wife and I lost the love we had for one another and the one person I can count on - the one I depend on - left." 

I lock gazes with Trip long enough to recognize the flash of anger that crosses his face. It's a fleeting moment, though, and is so quickly replaced that I wonder if I imagined it. "I know you've experienced some loss, Admiral. But my life hasn't been the easiest the past couple years either." 

That's true. It's funny, I always thought Trip and Natalie had a wonderful marriage.  Neither of them let on otherwise.  "I know, Trip.  But there's more to it.  Not only did you leave. . . but I envied you." 

There's  no mistaking the look of incredulousness that crosses his face this time.  "YOU envied ME?" 

"You  were continuing to do relevant, useful things for Starfleet."

"Ya don't think you're makin' a useful contribution to Starfleet?"

"I haven't felt useful since the Federation formed."

"Admiral. . . _Jon.  _You're the _reason_ the Federation formed." 

I allow myself a smile at that and for just a moment, I revel in the glimpse of my old buddy Trip.  "It's not the same Trip. . . you know, it's funny.  If someone had asked me twenty-seven years ago, I never would have guessed that you and T'Pol would remind me so much of each other in the end."

I see the startled look, and can't help but chuckle.  It's good to know that some things never change.  

"What do ya mean?" Trip asks slowly. 

With a sigh, I attempt to tell Trip of my frustration. . . "Seeing her so content with her job as an Ambassador. . . Trip, I know it sounds selfish, but damnit, it hurts knowing her career will continue to rise, while I'm essentially washed up, finished, irrelevant."  

"You're not irrelevant, Jon."  He says it with such conviction, that it takes me by surprise. My surprise only increases when he gets up from the bed and walks over to where I'm still perched on his desk.  Laying a hand on my shoulder and looking me firmly in the eye, he says, "You're my friend.  One I treasure very much, and would sacrifice almost anything for.  I'm sorry if I haven't made that clear, but you can be damn sure that our friendship isn't 'irrelevant,' and it never was." 

It's funny how much three little sentences can mean to me. "Thank you, Trip," I manage softly.  

There's another lull in the conversation as I struggle to force my voice to be steady before I ask, "So, tell me about life on Kowl."

"Ah, it's hectic.  I'm always havin' to mediate a bunch of squabbles between two equally stubborn forces that don't realize just how much alike they sound when their voices elevate." 

The laughter comes from it's own accord as I picture the scene his words conjure up.  "Sounds familiar." 

He looks at me quizzically.  "What do ya mean?"

"Meal times on _Enterprise _ring any bells?" 

I see him glance briefly at the photo at my side before he shrugs, and offers, "Nah, that was different.  I never hated T'Pol." 

"Sometimes I used to wonder." 

"I never did." 

"I really wondered on our wedding day.  You seemed pretty unhappy for a best man."

"I wasn't unhappy for ya I was just . . . worried . . . that ya were doin' the right thing." 

I snort. "Then maybe I should have paid better attention to your concerns, Trip. Maybe then we'd all be a lot better off. You know. . . Vulcans bond for life."

"Yeah, I know."

"I never thought I'd have a problem with that.  When T'Pol agreed to marry me, I promised she'd have my heart, and I never thought I'd ever entertain any notion otherwise. . . . back then, it didn't matter what T'Pol wouldn't say, because I knew she felt it. But now. . . it's so cold, and empty in that marriage.  It wasn't always you know.  Before we were married, T'Pol was more passionate than any woman I've ever known." 

"What happened?"

"It didn't take long for our relationship to change, Trip.  I . . . I don't know why.  But I turned a blind eye towards it, until we found ourselves back on Earth."  

I pause again, and wonder if Trip will think less of me for what I'm about to confess. "Things have been so wrong for so long. . . " I falter, trying to find the right words.  "I always thought I'd be true, but. . . "

"Well, sometimes a broken heart can your perspectives."

"Her name's Laura."

"How long have ya been with her?"

"We aren't. . . weren't _together. . . _not really.  But I've never wanted anything so badly since . . . well, since I wanted T'Pol.  Laura. . . she's amazing. She's a pilot instructor at the Academy's branch for civilian flight instruction." 

"Ah.  Tell me about her." 

That takes me by surprise.  But I'm happy for the opportunity, as I've kept her mostly a treasured secret all these long months.  So I tell Trip about how beautiful she is, with her auburn curls and blue eyes.  I tell him about her zest for adventure and fun, including her love for the antique sport of skydiving.   I share with him her dislike of sitting still and her passion for Greek architecture.  I reveal to him her preference for cooked strawberries, raw potatoes, and cheese covered pickles.  I enlighten him of the knowledge that she has two daughters and always wanted more, something her currently deceased husband of twenty-five years disagreed with her on.  Among these important facts, I manage to impart what T'Pol would surely denote as frivolous. . . such as Laura's preference for green over pink, extra pulp over low pulp in her orange juice, and Richard Dean Anderson's Colonel Jack O'Neill over Kurt Russell's.  

". . . And to think, eight months ago, I had no idea what _Stargate_ was," I muse.  

"Oh, it's a classic," Trip informs me.  "One of the greatest contributions of the late twentieth century to entertainment. Personally, I'm a bit partial to Teal'c." 

"I never much cared for science fiction till I met Laura," I admit.  

"Well," Trip says with a sigh.  "Love'll make a person do strange things."

"Yeah, I know."

"You said that you and Laura aren't. . together. . .?" Trip stumbles over the question and his hand comes up to his face, rubbing his stubble nervously.  

"No." God, that hurts to say.  "Not. . I'm not that type of man, Trip.  I. . . When I married T'Pol, I made a  promise, Trip, and what kind of man would I be if I didn't keep my promises?"

"But-"

I shake my head vehemently.  "I still love T'Pol, Trip.  It's faded somewhat, but I still love her.  I could have easily loved Laura just as much, and maybe even more. . . but I let her go.  Because I made a vow, and I intend to keep that vow."

When Trip speaks again, his voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear him.  "If. . .If you could go back and change it all. . .would ya?" 

I've thought about that a lot lately, and I'm able to answer Trip honestly.  "No.  Because if I changed any event, I wouldn't have my son.  As much discomfort as T'Pol and I have had in our union, Koval is always a reminder of happier times. He's proof there was a time when I loved T'Pol and she loved me, and no one can ever take that from us.  And not only that. . .but, regardless of Koval and my differences, I love that boy.  He's . . . well, you have a son.  I'm sure you understand."

There's another silence, not as uncomfortable as the first. "Yeah, I sure do.  Hey, maybe before this delegation is all over, we can watch a water polo match.  It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of watching Texas kick California's sorry ass."

God, how I've missed this.  "It's been entirely too long, Trip.  Tomorrow?" 

I think I see a slight wince, but he nods enthusiastically.  "Sure thing, Ad- Jon.  Don't have any other plans." 

We say our goodbyes, and I'm treated with a friend to friend hug that I haven't felt in what must be decades.  I leave Trip's quarters with a smile on my face, glad that I visited and certain that our friendship was repaired tonight.  

~~

To Be Continued. . . 

Feedback is good. 


	4. Dwindling Twilight: Koval's POV

Fulfilled 

_Part IV: _

Dwindling Twilight 

Koval's POV

Spoilers:  Some for "Hatchery." This is an A/U reality, but apparently some of the same events transpired in both universes. :)

~~

_The Next Day. . . _

_~~~_

One of my instructors at Starfleet Academy once warned us that the most perilous results would arise from seemingly mundane and benign missions. At the time, not only had I not believed him, but I believed him to simply be engaging in the human tendency towards hyperbole.  It appears that, at least for today, Admiral Carter was correct. 

Five hours ago, before I departed _Prometheus, _I could not have imagined that it would signal the beginning of what is likely going to be my last mission.  Complacently, I bid my bondmate a brief goodbye and exchanged a quick promise with my mother.

~~

Had I been entirely human,  I would have rolled my eyes. "I am the most qualified to investigate the dilithium deposits, Captain Sheldon. I am, after all, the chief engineer."

"I'm an engineer.  I'll go," Trip volunteers. 

"With respect, Commissioner Tucker, it has been some time since you were an active engineer," I reminded him gently.  

"Koval's right, Trip.  I'll be part of the landing party; He'll be fine," Admiral Archer spoke up, sending a smile to Maggie, in an attempt to placate her.  "I'll bring him back in one piece, Lieutenant Reed, Scout's Honor."

_Before we left, mother locked gazes with me and said softly, in Vulcan, "Take care of your father, Koval."_

"I will, mother," I promised, glad for once that the Admiral had never bothered to learn my mother's language.

~~~

It appears that neither the Admiral nor I are going to be able to keep our promises.  For, I am surely dying, and the Admiral is besieged with grief.  

I regret that my last words to my mother will have been a lie. I also regret that I did not take more time to say good bye to my bondmate.  I will not attempt to reach her through the bond – she cannot handle the pain I am experiencing, given her current condition. 

Again, I feel the dueling dichotomy of my heritage.  My Vulcan half accepts the inevitability of my death.  My human half, however, laments the future of my unborn son.  A son which shall never know his father, and as such, shall unwillingly and unwittingly follow in his father's footsteps.  

"Koval? Hey, hang in there, kiddo.  I'm not the engineer that you or Trip are, but I think I almost have this communicator working again.   I'm sure the Doctor will be able to patch you up good as new once we're back on board the _Prometheus." _The quiver in the Admiral's voice betrays the confidence he is trying to project.  

His voice, as strained and unnatural as it currently is, provides a sensation of soothing comfort to me in my current state.  The same toxin that is rapidly taking my life has rendered his visible appearance little more than colorful splotches which fade in and out of view, depending on his proximity.  

In contrast, his voice is loud and exceedingly clear, perhaps moreso than it should be.  Although he is relatively close to me, it feels as though he is shouting, though that would be inappropriate for the situation.

"Archer to _Prometheus . . . _we have a medical emergency down here. . . "

Distinctly, I can feel the panic of my bondmate.  In vain, I wish I could send reassurance her way, but to do so would be too dangerous, as I cannot control the sensations I would project. Her panic is to be expected.  The second panic I feel, however, surprises me.  It takes me a moment to realize it to be the grief of my mother. 

". . . I don't know, T'Pol! He was investigating the dilithium deposits –"

The very reason I beamed down to the planet with the Admiral in the first place.  Admiral Carter would no doubt appreciate the irony of this circumstance.

"And had an allergic reaction to the toxin in one of the plants nearby – the Angora, Agoria, Damnit, Koval, what was the name of the plant?"

I can hear my mother's reply even before I can form the words.  "Angoran rosebush."  Her voice does not betray the same emotional instability of the Admiral, but neither does it contain the same soothing calm that placated so many worries of my youth. Distinctly, I can her explain the significance of that particular plant to Captain Sheldon and the Admiral.  Its pollen attacts the neurosystem of Vulcans, killing them almost instantly.   The Vulcan half of me cannot help but marvel that the plant has found so far from its homeworld.  The Human half of me marvels at the idea that I may die because of a _rosebush.  _No other plants on Earth are as treasured as the rose. And yet, it may be the reason for my death.  

Admiral Carter would appreciate the irony of that as well. 

"Koval? Your mother says we have to do something called a . . . meld?  She said you'd know what to do."

Melds. Ah, yes.  Melding acts as a stabilizing agent -  not only in the case of Angoran rosebushes, but in many other diseases of the Vulcan neurosystem. Bendaii Syndrom, for example. 

And typically, in instances of pon farr.  

Unquestionably, Admiral Carter would appreciate the cruel irony of that truth. 

Unfortunately, he shall never be privy to the full story – no more than the Admiral beside me can be. Which is why I cannot do the one thing that could positively save my life.  The type of meld that would be required to counteract the effects of the Angoran rosebush would require a full exchange of our essences.  If I were to do so with Admiral Archer, he would know the truth of everything that I know.  Including the truth of my heritage. 

I think of my mother and birth father, who have both sacrificed so much to prevent him from that knowledge.  I think of all the sacrifices made. .. 

"KOVAL!" I am certain that he _is_ shouting now.  "Meld with me!  A shuttle's on the way, but your mother said they won't get here in time."

"No. . can't."  Surak help me, it hurts so badly to talk.  

"Of course you can, Koval. I'll help. Just tell me what to do."  

"No. . no. . sacr-"  The burning sensation in my throat increases tenfold with each progressive syllable.  "Sacrifices."

The word, when I finally manage to summon it, reminds me of the last conversation I had with Trip.  

~~

_" . . . and she must have one hell of an engineer to keep her runnin' in such good shape," Trip is finishing when my thoughts rejoin the present. _

_"Thank you. However, I will only be her engineer for another eleven months. At that point, I will be joining Maggie and our son on Starbase Twelve."_

_"It's gotta be a hard thing to give up."_

_"When you cherish someone, as I do Maggie, you must be willing to make sacrifices for them," I reply.  The crestfallen expression that crosses his face tells me that he has taken my words in the wrong context.  His ever consuming guilt has helped him to make the wrong assumption.  Laying a hand lightly on his shoulder, I wait for him to meet my glance before I respond. When his surprised look finds me, I tell him, "I learned such a lesson from you.  Did you not sacrifice a promising career so that you could be at home with your offspring?"  _

_"I could have sacrificed more," he responds. "Things might. . might have turned out  differently. . . better."_

_"No one could ask you to sacrifice more, fairly." _

_The unspoken truth lay between us, still forbidden.  To speak of it – to acknowledge the truthfulness of our relationship – would seem to be a betrayal to my other father, the one who did not give me life, but did give me his devotion. _

_Instead, I turn my attention to the photo that sits on his desk.  It fills me with irrational joy to know that I occupy the same space as Charlie does.  He follows my gaze and says, "When your son is born, you'll have to make sure ya send me some holo pics.  And lots of 'em."_

_"I will." _

~~~

I regret not being able to fulfill that promise. If I had known that could be our last conversation, I would have perhaps lingered.  Instead, I left his presence to join my bondmate.

Still, the time I spent with my father for the duration of this journey has been greater than the amount of time I have spent with my mother. Given our closeness, and my impending death, that is something I truly regret. 

"Koval, meld with me! Please, oh, God, Koval – " Archer is still pleading beside me.  

My death shall cause him sufficient pain, I am aware of that.  It shall also cause sufficient pain to my mother and father.  If I considered their wishes alone, I would no doubt be justified in melding with the Admiral, even with the risk of sharing my knowledge.  I would undoubtedly survive that exchange of information. I would survive and see the agony such a revelation would cause to three of the people I cherish most.  

If I were attempting to be logical, I would simply meld with the Admiral.  Yet, logic has no place within the midst of emotions I currently experience. 

If I could communicate such with the Admiral, I'm sure he would see humor in it.  Has he not always encouraged me to embrace my emotions? 

"Koval, are you still with me? Can you still talk? Say something, Koval!" He is near hysterics.  

Strangely, I find myself having pleasant memories of Archer as well.

~

"Did you have a good time today, Koval?"  The Admiral asked as we exited the Starfleet Museum. "Yes, Father.  Thank you for bringing me to see The Phoenix." "You're welcome, Koval.  Ya know, when I was little my father and I used to come here every weekend." "While The Phoenix was a crucial piece of history, Father, I do not understand what additional knowledge you could have gained by repeated trips to the museum. Undoubtedly the docent gives the same tour –" "Oh, Koval, that wasn't the point at all.  We didn't come to the museum to learn new information." "Then what was the purpose?" "The purpose, Koval, was to spend time with one another.  My dad was busy – a lot – and the time we spent together was very precious to us.   Our weekly trips to the museum were one of the ways we connected." 

"_I see."_

_"You know, I always looked forward to the time I would have a son, so that I could share the same kind of bond that my father and I shared."_

_"Is that why you brought me here today, Admiral?"_

_"Partially.  I also know that you're really interested in the history of space travel."_

_"It is an interesting account of my two peoples. However, I must say that this particular museum is especially human-centric."_

_"I suppose it is. . . you know, Koval, there are still some humans who, well, have the same attitude towards Vulcans as I had at the beginning of Enterprise's mission."_

_"I am well aware of that, Father."_

_"Yeah, I suppose you are.  If someone had told me then that I would go on to marry a Vulcan and father half of one, I never would believed it."_

_"I am glad that such events came to pass, Father."_

_"You're not the only one.  I know you and I have our differences, Koval. But I want to you know that your mother and I are the two most important people in the universe to me.  I'm more proud to be your father and her husband than I am of any other role I've ever played – and that includes being the Captain of the Enterprise.  If I lost either one of you. . . it would kill me.   I don't always express it very well, but promise me you'll never forget that, Koval."_

_"I promise, Father." _

_~~~_

That is one promise I am able to keep. 

In truth, it is memories such as these that forbid me from melding with the Admiral.  All the numerous times I have found myself at odds with him are just beyond the grasp of my memory.  It is these memories that bonded me to him, in the same fashion that I have bonded to Trip.  

"Koval, they're entering the upper stratosphere.  They'll be here any minute.  They had to send a shuttlepod.  Something's wrong with the transporters. . . "

Mother will not understand, of course. She will try to use logic where logic has no place.  Logically, she will see my refusal to bond with Archer as sacrificing a life to save feelings.  Surely, there can be no such logic, she will claim.  Again, I lament the lack of time we have spent together during this journey.  Yet, I can find solace in the innumerable times we have spent together, enjoying the harmony that came from being aliens in a human world as well as the natural bonding between a mother and son. Memories flash before me, being rocked and comforted by my mother in a tenderness that would surprise most humans – the ones that believed Vulcans to be truly emotionless.   They are fools. Of all those responsible for my upbringing, my mother's caresses, compassion, and love have been the most accessible. 

~~

"Something has caused you concern, my son."

_"No."_

_"It is illogical to lie to your mother.  I know you as well as you know yourself."_

_"I am well."_

_"You spoke to Soval, did you not?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then I know you are lying.  It is a statistical impossibility to exit a conversation with Soval and be mentally well."_

_"Humor does not become you, mother."_

_"I was not attempting to be humorous, my son.  Rather, I was speaking from past knowledge."_

_"I thought Soval was your mentor."_

_"Indeed he has been, and to some extent, continues to be.  That does not mean our relationship has been flawless.  The fact that our relationship is a difficult one does not demonstrate a lack of affection for one another.  No doubt you understand this first hand, given your relationship with Jonathan."_

_"Indeed. However, I find the whole thing illogical."_

_"Feelings are not subject to logic, Koval. Why do you suppose we suppress them?"_

_"Soval believes I do not do a sufficient job at suppressing them."_

_"Soval has believed that about me for many years. In time, you will grow to appreciate his hypocrisy in that matter."_

_"I look forward to that outcome, Mother."_

_"You should remember, Koval, that numerous individuals have been scrutinized publicly for making unpopular decisions.  Surak himself was not immediately embraced, as you well know.   In addition, my decision to stay on the Enterprise was viewed with extreme scrutiny.  Surak's dedication brought logic to our people; mine brought you."_

_"Hardly comparable results, Mother."_

_"They are of equal importance to me, Koval."_

_"Thank you, Mother."_

_" I must take my leave of you now.  There are several slices of pie in the refrigeration unit.  Captain Tucker  calls it 'comfort food,' I believe."_

_"I believe I shall test his theory on that subject."_

_~~~_

My father, on the other hand, may in time come to understand. No doubt he shall mourn my loss, and possibly quite strongly, as he is a passionate man.  Yet, I recall memories from my youth of the great hesitation Trip took in shooting the Admiral during the insectoid hatchery incident in the Expanse.  Even with a phase pistol set on stun, Trip was reluctant to fire at his dear friend.  Such a trait was no doubt partially the reason for his reluctance to love my mother, even when it became obvious that he held feelings for her. 

Trip was reluctant to cause temporary harm to the Admiral, even with billions of lives at stake .  Surely he can understand my reluctance to cause permanent pain to the same man.  Perhaps not at first, but in time he will.  Then, of all my parents, he has usually been the one to understand me best.

~~~

"Can I come in?" 

"_Y-y-yes."_

_"Hey, squirt. How ya doin'?"_

_"I am w-well, Trip."_

_"I thought I'd come and check on ya before dinner."_

_"I told you, Trip.  I am well."_

_"Yeah, I heard ya.  But I wanted to make sure.  I promised the Admiral and T'Pol that I'd take good care of ya while they went on their mission."_

_"I am well, Trip."_

_"Yeah, so ya said."_

_ "Charlie told you about today's events, did he not?"_

_"Yep.  Wanna talk about it?"_

_"I do not see the point in dwelling upon the illogic of my classmates."_

"_Well, maybe I'll just sit here, and enjoy your company, and if there's anything you feel like sayin', I'll be right here."_

_It was, I recognized, a compromise.  His human half wanted desperately to continue to pry, even while he  understood that such was not the way of a Vulcan.  Had my parents been there, the Admiral would have prodded; my mother would have left me to quiet contemplation. I was grateful for the compromise.   _

_We sat there, as seconds transgressed into minutes.  He ignored my childish attempts at stoicism, rudely betrayed by the alternating sounds of rude sniffles and an occasional escaped sob.  _

_"Trip?"_

_"Yes, Koval?"  _

_"Charlie is not going to be punished, is he?"_

_"Nah.  He didn't do anything I probably wouldn't have done myself.  It'd be pretty hypocritical of me to do anything about it."_

_"S-striking another being goes against the teachings of Surak, and is therefore not the logical solution."_

_"Well, us Tuckers have never been known for their logic, squirt."_

_"Although, I fail to see the l-logic in comparing my ears to that of a fictional elephant whose existence was a product of inferior twentieth century Earth animation."_

_"Somehow, I think Surak would agree with ya, squirt."_

_"Have you ever seen 'Dumbo,' Trip?"_

_"Yep."_

_"Did you enjoy it?"_

_"It's always been one of my favorites – never fails to make me cry like a little boy, though."_

_"I fail to see the logic in purposely watching something that would make me cry."_

_"It's part of being an emotional human, Koval."_

_"Well, I am pleased to know your emotionally flawed human self, Trip."_

_ "And I am pleased to know your very logical Vulcan self, Koval."_

~~

The physical sensation of pain has reached the nerve endings in my outermost extremities and I have to grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain.  I also am having difficulty keeping up the wall between my bondmate and myself. But I know I must force myself to keep the wall up. It is the last gift I can give to my wife and my son, both of whom must suffer because I cannot bear to hurt the man sitting next to me. 

But Maggie knows my heart, and she will understand.  In time, she will help my son to understand.  The grief my son will have is a familiar one.  I grieve that I will not be able to be there to guide my son through the boughts of bigotry and xenophobia he will likely experience in his life, or to see his triumphs, or the birth of my grandchildren. 

And then, there is Charlie. 

~~

"_I fail to see the purpose in the secrecy you have invoked for this ceremony, Charlie."_

_"Becoming blood brothers is a sacred ceremony, Koval. It's gotta be secret."_

_"On Vulcan we had a very similar ceremony years ago, between warriors.  Far from being a secret, such ceremonies were town events. The larger the crowd, the more 'blessed' the event was supposed to be."_

_"Well, let's compromise.  Since this is a tradition both of our people shared at one point, we'll use both our people's traditions. Sound fair?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Okay. We'll uphold the human tradition of secrecy.  We'll use the Vulcan word for brother when we shake hands.  What is it, by the way?"_

_"Technically, there are two words.  There is 'sa-kai,' which is a term reserved for those who share parents.  There is also 't'hy'la,' which has many meanings, among them 'one who is like a brother.'"_

_"Okay.  On three?"_

_"One. . . Two. . . Three," we said in unison before clasping our hands together._

_"Sa-kai,"_

_"T'hy'la."_

_"Koval, I thought you said the word for blood brother is 'sa-kai.'" _

_"It is. However, the word used in ancient Vulcan ceremonies was 't'hy'la.'  It would be illogical to call you anything sa-kai unless we shared parents."_

_"You are seriously missing the point of this ceremony, Koval."_

_"And you are being seriously illogical, Charlie."_

_~~_

Oh, the years we wasted arguing over such a term.  In the end, of course, he was right, and I could not even tell him.  I very much wanted to. 

"They're here, Koval. Hang in there, until we get to sickbay, okay?"  The Admiral's voice no longer sounds as loud as it did only moments ago.  Instead, it sounds very distant.

Equally as vaguely, I hear the concerned sound of Charlie beside me. I feel his hands – and someone else's - grasp me. 

"Good to see you again, sa-kai," I whisper.  His reply goes unheard. 

~~

To be Continued. . . 


	5. Legacy: Charlie's POV

Fulfilled

Part V

Legacy  

Charlie's POV

Spoilers: Teeny, tiny, itsy bitsy for "Azati Prime." 

A/N:  Ali D, I graciously attribute the praying in Vulcan bit to your review! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, actually.  I got a total kick out of everyone's different viewpoints. And it may not be obvious at all by the end of this chapter, but I am truly beginning to enjoy Archer! His Kirk impressions aren't nearly as lame as they used to be! Even if Sisko's were better.  

~~~

He's going to be all right.  He has to be. The man I've loved like a brother all these years can't die.  He *can't.*   

Regardless of the fact that he passed out on the planet and we haven't been able to wake him.  Regardless of the fact that both Dad and the Admiral are pleading with him to meld with him.  Regardless of the fact that each progressive breath only grows more shallow.  

And I refuse to acknowledge that the typical warm Vulcan skin is ice cold. 

He has to be okay.  Never mind the three people in this shuttle that will fall apart if he doesn't make it.  There are two – three people back on the ship who need him.  Never mind the many that he has befriended.  

He's going to be fine. Nothing else is an option. 

"Can't you go any faster?" I snap at the poor Ensign piloting the shuttle. 

"We're at maximum impulse now, Lieutenant," he replies quietly.  His tone immediately made me regret my impatience.  

"I'm sorry, Robert.  I didn't mean to snap – I'm just worried," I offer, still refusing to let go of Koval's right hand.  The Admiral is still clutching his left, and Dad. . . I can't look at Dad.  I made the mistake of looking at him once, while we were still down on the planet, and in that moment when I saw the expression on his face, I lost all hope I had that Koval was going to be okay.  But even though I can't bring myself to look at him, I can see his large hands cradling Koval's head, promising him that he'll be okay.

And he will.  

"We're docking now, Admiral," Robert reports.  

See, we're back on board the Prometheus.  Everything's going to be fine.  Koval's human half has kept him alive this long and now that he's back, T'Pol will patch him up.  Maggie'll keep her husband, little Charles will still have a father, and Koval and I will watch him and Number Five playing together.

Still, as I help my father lift him, only one word stubbornly comes to mind to describe how he feels. 

_Lifeless._

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}__

Once we arrive in sickbay, I try mostly to stay out of the way of Dr. Zahn and T'Pol.  The doctor busied herself with taking useless bioscans while T'Pol pressed both hands to Koval's face in an attempt to meld with him.   
I want to be as close to Koval as T'Pol and Zahn are, but I hang back.  After all, my friend may be in danger, but Archer and Maggie have a greater claim on Koval than I do. So I stand just behind the two of them, beside Dad, wishing both that I had been as spiritual as Grandma Tucker had preached, and that I knew how to pray in Vulcan.  Do Vulcans pray? 

~~~

"_Hey, who's that lady staying with you, and why is she wearing those funny symbols on her robe?"_

_"She is T'Lara.  Those symbols denote her position as high priestess of Mount Seleya." _

_"Oh.  I didn't think Vulcans would find God logical."_

_"Her position as priestess has nothing to do with any diety, Charlie.  You are presuming that a priestess has the same connotation in both Human and Vulcan societies. Such reasoning is highly ethnocentric."_

_"Jeez Louise, Koval.__  I'm sorry."_

_~~_

Yes,  Koval, I _am_ sorry. I'm sorry for any argument we every had.  I'm sorry for any time I was too absorbed in myself to stop and consider your viewpoint. I'm sorry for not picking you to be on my football team in third grade, because I knew you weren't any good at the sport. I'm sorry I didn't realize you were more important than winning some stupid game. I'm sorry for the many times I was supposed to meet you for lunch and instead sat with Jude Green, because he claimed to be related to Zephram Cochrane.  I'm sorry for the time I thought I had a crush on Maggie. I'm sorry for the time I got angry at you and locked you out of our tree house. 

I have so much to apologize for, Koval. Please wake up so I can. 

Strange how being in sickbay, watching as T'Pol presses her fingers against Koval's face, I have somehow lost all my optimism.  Everything feels like it's moving too slow. 

I hear a gasp of breath, and bring myself back into the present, hoping that the gasp came from Koval.  My gaze, however, finds him still unconscious.  The gasp came from T'Pol, who is  now muttering softly to herself, fingers still placed firmly on Koval's face. Her mutterings are so soft that I have to strain to hear her.

"Sor-ry, Maggie. . . Charlie. . . my son." It takes me a moment to realize that T'Pol is vocalizing Koval's thoughts.

Oh, Koval, there's nothing for you to be sorry about.  Just don't die, damnit! 

"Mother. . . love you . . .  Trip . . . Admiral. . . honored to be your son."  

Briefly, I hear the sob beside me and one in front of me.  In all the time that I've known Koval, I don't think he's ever told my father that he loves him.  The fact that he is doing so now scares me shitless. It's feels entirely too much like his final words.  

"Hurts. . . pain. . . so much. ." T'Pol's recitation is cut short by a strangled cry.  Beside me, Dad moves forward then stops.  I remember his confession in our living room years ago, and know he wants to be beside T'Pol every bit as much as he wants to be beside Koval.  

"Take. . . katra. . . re-mem-ber." There is another cry.  It's tone is just different enough to send fear to the very bottom of my stomach and agony to deepest bottom of my heart.  I know, in an instant, that the second cry belonged to T'Pol, not Koval.  

Before tears blur my vision I can see Archer move forward to catch T'Pol as she collapses,  and I can distantly hear the voice of Zahn as she tries to succeed where the meld failed. But she doesn't. 

"Record time of death." 

I didn't realize there would ever be a time that I would have to *force* myself to breathe.  But my lungs seem to have lost the ability to do that themselves. NO! He can't. . . No. . . NO!

Captain Sheldon is speaking quietly behind me, I realize belatedly.  I suppose I should try to listen.  I'm supposed to be a lieutenant on this stupid ship, for whatever that matters. Fortunately, he was talking to Dad. "I'll need to inform the rest of the bridge crew. Please let the Ambassador and Admiral Archer know I'll be happy to whatever arrangements they need for the funeral. . ."

"They'll need to return to Vulcan immediately," Dad says firmly, but quietly. 

"Starfleet. . . "

"Starfleet damn well better realize that some pointless conference isn't going to take precedence over – you know what? I'll come with you. Admiral Williams and I are gonna have a little chat." 

Before he leaves, Dad lays a hand gently on my shoulder and says, "Maggie's gonna need you, kiddo."  His voice is calm and controlled, but I know it's all part of his "Captain Tucker" façade.  He'll cry later, of course. After the "mission" of yelling at Starfleet is over.  

~

"What's the matter, kiddo?" 

_"Nothin'.__  I'm fine."_

_"Ya don't look fine to me."_

_"I'm fine, Dad."_

_"Your momma told me about Razzle.   It's okay to be upset."_

_"I'm not upset. It's just a stupid dog. Stupid dog that went and died."_

_"You know, when I was your age, I had a favorite pet turtle."_

_"Good for you."_

_"When Harry died, I was devastated.  I cried for days."_

_"I ain't gonna cry."_

_"Why not?"___

_"Boy's aren't supposed to."_

_"Who told ya that?"_

_"Mr. Kinsey, our physical education teacher. He says it ain't manly."_

_"He couldn't be more wrong, kiddo.  That's a coward's excuse.  The measure of a man isn't how well he holds his feelings inside, or keeps his feelings hid.  When you're hurtin', that doesn't mean you're weak. It just means you're strong enough to cry."_

_~~_

I'm glad you thought so, Dad. Because I sure don't feel very strong right now. 

The sound of T'Pol's voice makes me rejoin the present.  "We will have to go to Vulcan immediately to perform the katra ceremony." I notice that she has pulled away from the protective grasp of the Admiral and is now using every inch of her Vulcan control to presume the same control my father had only moments ago.

The same can't be said for the Admiral.  He looks as close to falling apart as I feel. Poor guy. I think now must be the only time I've ever felt sorry for the man.  I never realized how much the Admiral loves Koval. I wonder if Koval knows. . .*_knew.*_

My sympathy for the man is short-lived.  "Where are you going, T'Pol?" he demands. 

Well, she's a Vulcan and just suffered a tremendous blow.  I'm guessin' she's probably going to meditate.  Call it a hunch. 

"I must meditate, immediately."

Oh, look, I was right.  Probably because I spent time trying to understand Koval, unlike the unappreciative bastard he had for a father.

"Damnit, T'Pol, our son just. . . we just lost our son.  How can you just meditate that away?" 

It's only my father's last words to me that keep me from slugging the man.  Court-martial be damned.  

"I must," is all T'Pol answers.  I've been around Vulcans long enough to see that she is struggling to remain in control.  Apparently, however, Archer isn't that keen.

"I didn't think even you could be this cold hearted, T'Pol.  To just get up, and walk away-"

"I will grieve for our son in my own way," comes the response.  "Maggie, if there is anything I can do to assist you, please let me know."

"I – I will.  I think actually. . . actually meditation sounds pretty good right now," Maggie responds. She turns to flee and I start to follow her.  I'm a foot past Archer and T'Pol when the sound of T'Pol's voice stops me.

"Let go of my arm, Jonathan."

"T'Pol, I _need _you."

Something stirred uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach at that remark. Turning back around, I see the Admiral's hand is still resting on T'Pol's arm.  I should just keep going, because it is quite obvious that T'Pol could easily kick the man's ass.  And I've hoped for 24 years that she will.  

"Let go of her, Admiral."  I'm surprised when the comment comes out of my mouth, and apparently Archer is too. His hand falls from T'Pol's arm, and he turns to look at me.  We're standing close enough now that I could slug the man easily.  It can't be wise of me to dwell on that.

"You're out of line, *Lieutenant,*" he warns.  

"And you're a selfish son-of-a-bitch, *Admiral,*" I respond.  

"Excuse me?"

"If you'd stop thinkin' of yourself for one lousy minute, you'd realize that you're not the only one who's sufferin'.  Maggie lost a husband, T'Pol lost a son, I lost my best friend, and a baby just lost his daddy.  But all you want to focus on is *you*  and *your pain.*" 

"He was my son!  I hardly think it wrong of me to grieve – that's what most normal, warm blooded humans do.  I'm sorry I'm not the cold-blooded Vulcan you expect me to be-"

That's when I gave in to temptation.  The feel of my fist connecting with Archer's nose felt wonderful and I highly suspect I would have continued if I hadn't felt T'Pol's restraining hand on my shoulder.  

"Your SON was a cold-blooded Vulcan, you fucking bastard," I snap. "How could you. . . how could you blame anyone when it's your fault he's dead in the first place?"

"How the hell is it my fault?"

"You were supposed to meld with him! If you had done that, he wouldn't be dead." 

"I DID try." The Admiral's voice breaks, but I press on, twenty-four years of hatred spilling out into the open. 

"You should have tried harder."

"Well, maybe if T'Pol had ever taken the time to tell me about the melding process, I *could* have.  But, no, T'Pol, you and your sacred Vulcan secrets. Is there part of your society you'd actually to share with me? I don't know about pon farr until someone else's wife has it, I don't know about melds until our son's life is on the line-"

 "There you go again! Can't you for one minute-"

"Charlie, Jonathan, you must cease this immediately.  Charles, your blame is misplaced.  Koval chose not to meld with Jonathan," T'Pol says softly. 

"Why would he do that?" I demand.

"He . . . wished to conceal decisions made in the past," T'Pol answered. Damn, she must meditate.  She looks like she's about to fall apart any second.  

"I'm his father. What could he be so embarrassed about that he wouldn't want to tell me?" 

"If you had ever taken the time to be the father you should have been, the answer would be a vastly different one than it is now," I answer for the Admiral.  

That hurt the Admiral apparently more than my punch did. He stumbles backward, shocked into silence. I feel a twinge of guilt, and even more so when I take another look at T'Pol.  The anger coursing through me leaves instantly. If Koval knew how I was neglecting his mother, he'd never forgive me.  Well, yes, he would have, because he's a hell of a lot nicer than I am, but that's not really the point. "Come on, Ambassador.  I'll show you to a spare set of quarters, where you can meditate in private, without being disturbed," I offer softly. 

T'Pol simply nods and we leave the Admiral alone in sickbay.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

It's been five hours.  Captain Sheldon has given me the rest of day off.  I'm glad, because the ship is in much better hands with Ensign Jackson flying it.  Because all I can do right now is dwell upon memories of the friend I lost.

We were always going to take a trip to Ceti Alpha Four together.  Koval's always been real fond of archeology and apparently that place is just full of ruins. 

~~

"That'll be awesome, Koval. What type of ruins are they?" 

_"They belonged to a tribal people who engaged in the ritual of human sacrifice."_

_"Yeah?"___

_"Indeed. They lasted for approximately three thousand years."_

_"Why were they wiped out?"_

_"No one is certain.  There are many theories, but none have been proved conclusively."_

_"Maybe they were snatched off the planet and sold into slavery."_

_"By whom?"___

_"I don't know. Some other alien race."_

_"You propose that some unidentified alien entity appeared for no apparent reason, kidnapped an  entire species, left their dwellings intact and left no trace of such an activity?"_

_"Yeah, what do ya think?"_

_"I think it would have taken quite an advanced transporter to do so."_

_"Haha.__ Funny, Koval.  I take it you don't think it is a logical explanation.  But it **could** have happened."_

"Theoretically, it is possible. However, for both of our planet's safety, I hope the hostile invaders of your fantasy have met their own untimely demise."

_~~~_

For someone who wanted so badly to be so utterly Vulcan, Koval could be awfully funny. I'll miss his unique and warped sense of humor the most. 

Or maybe his ability to be so sensitive. . . 

~~

_"Hey, Koval, are you sure you should be here? I am sick, after all."_

_"I am a Vulcan.  I don't believe I can contact chicken pox. Besides, you must be experiencing boredom. I have come to keep you company."_

_"I'm not allowed to get outta bed."_

_"You are allowed to talk, are you not?"_

_"Yep."___

_"Then we do not have a problem."_

_~~_

He sat with me ten hours a day for two weeks. In the end, either Vulcans aren't immune to chicken pox, or his human half got the better of him.  So, a week after I recovered, I began returning the favor. 

I can't believe he's gone. I'll never have a more loyal friend. . . 

~~

"May I come in, Charlie?" 

_"Sure.  What brings ya here? I would have thought ya would have preferred spendin' time with Charlotte."_

_"You are experiencing jealousy?" _

_"No. . . it's perfectly logical that you would want to spend time with someone so smart.  Ya have a lot more in common with Charlotte than I have with you."_

_"That is true.  That is why I chose her for my project at the science fair. However, I prefer to claim you as my closest friend. After all, are we not 'blood brothers, t'hy'la?"_

_"Yeah, we are, sa-kai."_

~~

It's funny. His whole life, we disagreed over that stupid term. And yet, his last word to me was "sa-kai." 

I should go check on Maggie.  But I can't drag myself out of this bed to do so. I don't want to be so selfish – not like the Admiral.  

I know I was out of line for what I did in sickbay.  Hell, only the friendship between my father and the Admiral will prevent me from being court- martialed. But even if I were to be court-martialed, it would have been worth it.  I've wanted to slug that man every day for the entire time I've known him.  Only Koval's attachment towards the man stopped me. 

And I may have been out of line, but my actions were nothing compared to his.  His son dies, his wife is devastated, his pregnant daughter-in-law has lost both her husband and the father of her future child. But what does he focus on? Not even on the loss of his son, but he starts dwelling on the relationship he has with his wife.  Completely inappropriate. What was the deal with "I don't know about pon farr until someone else's wife has it, I don't know about melds until our son's life is on the line?"

Since when the hell does Jonathan Archer give a damn about Vulcan secrets? All through growing up, the man never once made any overture towards understanding his son's culture.  And he has the audacity to be upset because there are features of Vulcan society that he doesn't know about? 

Asshole. 

*I* know about melds.  Koval and I attempted one when I was 10. It didn't work, and I had a headache for a week.  Koval was nervous the entire week.

~~

"_We should get a doctor to look at you."_

_"I'm fine, Koval."_

_"You are not."_

_"I am."_

_"But what if you are not? I do not want you to die, Charlie.  You are my best friend."_

_~~_

Damnit, Koval, I didn't want you to die, either.  Tears force their way into my eyes, and I ignore my father's advice for the moment. I'm sick of crying. It's much more productive to focus on how much I hate the Admiral.

And pon farr? Hell, even I know what pon farr was, and I'm an "outworlder" as Ambassador T'Pau likes to call us.  Some of it came from Kov and So'Trip, but most of the details came from Koval.

~

_"So So'Trip told me a lot about pon farr, and I know you don't like to share because I'm not a Vulcan, but I'm really curious about it."_

_"What would you like to know further?"_

_"You'll tell me?"_

_"Since you already know the basics, I fail to see the logic in not providing further truth about the subject. Especially since the majority of your current information comes from two Vulcans who refuse to follow the path of Surak."_

_"Good. So'Trip tells me a Vulcan has to be in pon farr in order to get pregnant. Is that true?"_

_"That is correct only in the case of females."_

_"But if the guy is all uh, ready, then. . . "_

_"Male Vulcans can conceive at any time."_

_"Then isn't it a little illogical for them to go through pon farr at all?"_

_"The entire process of pon farr is illogical, t'hy'la."_

_~~_

Clearly Archer could have known about melds or pon farr, if he'd only been interested enough to. . . 

Wait a minute.

If female Vulcans have to be under pon farr in order to conceive, then Archer's statement doesn't make any sense. 

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I'm not enjoying at all. It's the same one I used to get when I was little and afraid of the dark and my mother insisted that I sleep without a night light.

T'Pol would have had to have been under pon farr in order to conceive Koval.  The fact that Koval's father is human is irrelevant. That wouldn't have affected T'Pol's eggs any.  So why would the Admiral have that he didn't know about pon farr until someone else's wife had it? From everything I've been told about the condition, it's not exactly a subtle condition. He *_had* _to have known.

Unless T'Pol had her pon farr with someone else.  But that would mean that Koval's father was someone else. 

The gnawing feeling is getting worse. 

It's a ridiculous idea.  Even if T'Pol had undergone pon farr with someone else, she was serving aboard the _Enterprise _when she became pregnant with Koval.  For the Admiral to have not noticed a change in demeanor would have required either her or him to be off the ship for a sufficient amount of time. So'Trip told me that the symptoms tend to be quite violent for at least a week. 

~~

"_You know, Koval and Charlie, there was a time T'Pol and Trip didn't get along very well."_

_"They get along just fine now, Admiral Archer."_

_"Yes, Father, they appear to be friends."_

_"Oh, I'm certain they are now. They've been much more civilized to each other since they were taken captive by the Romulans."_

_~~_

For the second time today, I have to force myself to breathe. 

I hop off the bed and do a frantic check at the computer.  The numbers have to be off.  They have too.  There's no way.  . . 

Vulcan pregnancies last ten months. Dad and T'Pol were captured in May of 2155.  Koval was born in March of 2156.  Exactly ten months later.    

No, no, no, no, no, no. It simply isn't possible. No! 

Yet . . . _"Mother. . . love you . . .  Trip . . . Admiral. . . honored to be your son."  _

No, that's even more impossible. That implies not only that Dad was . . .but that Koval knew.  If he had, he would have told me. 

"He . . . wished to conceal decisions made in the past." 

"_Good to see you again, sa-kai."_

God, I wish Koval was here.  He'd point out some flaw in my logic, surely.  There has to be one, of course.  

But the timing's right.  Even their eyes are. . . were . . .the same.  Koval loved catfish and pecan pie as much as Dad and I do.  Hell, he even followed in Dad's footsteps career wise. 

Wouldn't that just kill the Admiral? All these years, he's thought Koval was following an Archer family tradition. Not only was he off there, but hell, Koval isn't .. . wasn't even an Archer. 

I'll never tell him, of course.  Or even Dad.  I mean, Koval gave his life to keep Archer form knowing.  I won't let that sacrifice be in vain. 

What a hellish day.  Not only did I lose my friend, I lost a brother.  The ship's psychiatrist, Dr. Judge, told me that when I'm ready to quit grieving, I should focus on the good times we had together.  

Hell, I've grieved enough.  I move to the bookshelf and start to pull out the old fashioned scrap book that sits there.  As I pull it from its spot, the paperback copy of Dad's book falls from its place instead.  I bend to pick it up and remember fondly the occasion that Dad gave Koval and me the books.

~~

"Boys, I want both of you to have a copy of this.  When I'm dead and gone, you'll be able to look back through it and relive parts of my life."

"That is morbid, Trip, but thank you."

"Dad, it's a paper book."

_"I know that, Charlie."_

_"It is highly unusual to give paper books, Trip. They do not last long, and have mostly been replaced by electronic format."_

_"I know.  But when I was little, my parents made it a tradition of always giving me a paperback copy of all the books I received.  I wanted to pass that tradition on to you two."_

_~~_

His parents.

That feeling in my stomach has returned and only grows worse as I flip open the cover to the first page and see the dedication. 

"To Charlie and Koval. . . "

My hands flip on through the pages, skimming past the adventures and discoveries.  I dwell only on the mentions of myself and Koval.  Koval is mentioned 45 times. I am mentioned 45 times. 

Dad knows.  

No, that isn't even remotely possible. . . because if it was true, it would mean that my father had abandoned one of his children, and that isn't something he would ever do. He simply didn't know. 

He couldn't have.

And to prove it, I'll ask him. 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

"What?" Dad asks me in disbelief.  Good, disbelief is good. It could be a sign he didn't know. 

"I asked if Koval was my brother.  I already explained why I think so. . . so . . . was he?"

The expression on Dad's face makes me have an instant flashback to our living room in San Francisco on the day he confessed to loving Ambassador T'Pol.  The day he told me he had given up the love of his life in order not to hurt his best friend.

I never would have thought he would have given up his son too.

"Yes, Charlie, Koval is. . .was . . my son."  Dad's eyes, already red from hours of crying, begin to water again.  Part of me is hurt that he's crying . . . the other part can only focus on how much those eyes remind me of Koval.  That part of me reminds me that because of T'Pol and Dad's deception, I'll never see Koval's blue eyes again.

"How could you. . . lie about something like that?" I demand.  It occurs to me that I shouldn't shout at my father.  Hell, I never have. 

"By the time I found out, T'Pol was already married to Jon-"

"And the Admiral's happiness is more important than Koval's? Oh, excuse me, let me make that the correct tense. Than Koval's happiness _was_?"

"Charlie, you don't understand."

"You're damn right I don't understand! You abandoned him!"

"I never abandoned Koval, Charlie. I was always there for him, every bit as much as I was for you."

"He was never able to call you Dad.  He was stuck with that man-"

"The Admiral loved him as much T'Pol or I did, Charlie.  Koval knew that."

"I'm sure you think so, Dad.  You see, as much as you were there for Koval, I'm the one who sat beside him every time he and the Admiral had a disagreement over Koval's choice for Vulcan culture.  I'm the one who had to try to come up with an answer to Koval's question of why his father didn't love him as much as mine loved me.  Little did we know that was the wrong question." 

"Charlie-"

"I'm the one that had to try to reassure him when he felt out of place.  I'm the one that had to sooth away his tears. Did you know the pressure of trying to live up to the Admiral's expectations made him cry? Did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"Fourteen times.  Not a lot by human standards, but pretty significant by Vulcan standards."

"Charlie –"

"Do you remember what you used to tell us when we were little, and afraid of the dark?  I was sure I saw monsters, and Koval thought for sure he heard the sound of sehlets, as illogical as it was for them to be in a room in San Francisco." The memory forces a sob out of my throat, but Dad doesn't interrupt me.  "You promised you always be there to chase away the monsters and the sehlets.  And yet, when Koval really needed you – you threw him away to the biggest monster of all.  You _abandoned _him."

"Charlie, you have no idea how much I regret the decisions T'Pol and I – no, the decision _I _made.  And if there was any way for me to change it, I would."  It occurs to me that Dad hasn't moved once during our entire conversation.  He's still sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at the picture in his hands, with shoulders slumped.

I know he's hurting. If I had any doubt, the tears streaming down his face right now would have cleared that up for me.  But I also know if it wasn't for the deceit of him and Ambassador T'Pol, this never would have happened.  If he had claimed Koval as his son, Koval would still be alive.

"All I know, Dad, is that I've never been ashamed to be your son, until today. You aren't anything near the man I grew up admiring and loving.  You're someone completely different, someone I don't know, and someone I have no desire to know."  

I don't stick around to listen to his response.

~~

To be Continued. . . .

*Sniffle.*Poor, poor Trip.  

A/N:  I would like to take the opportunity to remind everyone that there are many stages of grief – denial and anger are two of them. 

Feedback is good! Even if you want to tell me that Charlie and Koval are evil Mary Sues who deserve to die painful deaths! 


	6. Remorse: T'Pol's POV

Fulfilled 

Spoilers:  Vague mentions of T'Pol's mental state up to "Azati Prime," kinda.  Also refers to some of the events of "Azati Prime," followed by speculation and twisting to make it fit in with the evilness of this AU reality.  At least, I hope it's twisting. :) No spoilers past "AP," though.  

Chapter 6 Remorse  T'Pol's POV 

A/N:  Wow, this was hard.  Feedback is always welcome.  

~~~ 

I have killed my son.  Though I would have taken whatever measures necessary to prevent his death, there can remain no doubt that I contributed to his death, as surely as if I had broken his neck with my own hands. 

The presence of Koval's katra only reinforces the accurate source of the blame for his death. At the initial time of transference, I found it incredibly difficult to function, as though I was engaging in a continuous meld.  In the past forty-eight hours, however, I have gained some control.  His katra's presence encircles my consciousness in much the same way as the heavy blanket that my mother bestowed upon me when I told her of my first posting to Earth. The very same blanket I passed to Koval when he grew old enough to sleep in a bed made for an adult.  As a half Vulcan, Koval shared my need for a warmer environment to be comfortable.  However, he also found decidedly. . . _unique _uses for the blanket.

~~

_"Koval, Charles Tucker IV, what are you doing?"_

_"Hello, Mother. We are camping."_

_"Camping?"_

_"Yes, Mother."_

_"From what I know of this 'camping', one does not engage in such an activity indoors."_

_"Well, we can't go outside, Ambassador. It's too cold for Koval."_

_"If you are 'camping,' what is the use of my mother's blanket? Other than to obtain a sufficient amount of dirt by lying on the floor?"_

_"Mother.  It is part of our tent. We cannot camp without a tent."_

_"No, ma'am. It'd be illogical."_

_"I see.  Then I would ask only for you to lower your voices to a more appropriate volume.  Jonathan and I are attempting to sleep."_

~~

Although not entirely successful at their attempts to lower their voices, Koval and Charlie spent the remainder of the evening camping on the living room floor, under a tent made of my mother's blanket and in front of a fire that existed only in their imaginations.  Jonathan slept through their adventure, but my Vulcan hearing heard their voices continuing to converse well into the morning hours. 

I have no doubt that Koval intended to pass the same blanket onto his son.  As the fleeting but intense sensation of loss that is associate with Koval's unborn child passes through me, I realize that I am unable to discern whether I should attribute it to the presence of Koval's katra or my own grief.  

*_Grief.*_ Surak wrote much on the subject.  In fact, there is an entire volume of writings on dealing with grief in a logical fashion.  I once found it intriguing that Surak did not consider grief in the same category as other emotions.  That was before I truly had anything to grieve.  Now not only does the fact hold no intrigue, but I cannot help but wonder if Surak had ever actually experienced grief as great as the one I hold now.

He could not, I am certain.  Both of Surak's children reached adulthood and continued a line of Vulcans that continues to this day.  They were alive and able to mourn their father's death, as is appropriate.   The grieving of a parent over the loss of a child . . . is not.  This should not be.  Even given my son's human blood, I should not have outlived him.  

I feel the pressing warmth of his katra again, and I wonder if it is possible that even in death Koval is attempting to comfort me. Such a contemplation sounds almost too mystical to be worth considering logically. Yet, if the katra is all that one is, I know it to be possible that my son is seeking to comfort me,  even in death. The death which I have helped cause. 

* Comfort. * I believed it once to be such a human sentiment, once.  In my early years on _Enterprise, _I would have scoffed at any perceived benefits of "comfort." Following the toil brought on by the time in the Expanse, I first became familiar with the advantages associated with * comfort. * After _Enterprise's _near defeat at the hands of the Xindi, I found solace in the friendship that had grown steadily for the past three years with Commander Tucker.  In the midst of repairing both the ship and my own mental control, our relationship's foundation only solidified.  While it was not the beginning of our relationship, it was certainly a watershed.  

~~__

"I brought ya some soup, T'Pol.  There wasn't any plomeek, but I brought some vegetable." 

"Thank you, but I shall pass.  Chef insists on 'flavoring' his vegetable soup with beef broth."

_"Actually, this wasn't Chef's.  It's a recipe of my momma's."_

_"You prepared this?"_

_"Yes."_

_"I thought you were working on the engines. They – "_

_"Are in awful shape, and I'll get back to 'em, T'Pol. But you've been workin' for thirty-six hours straight."_

_"You have been working for forty-eight."_

_"And before I get some sleep, I thought I'd take five minutes to make sure you ate something."_

_"It typically takes longer than five minutes to prepare soup."_

_"Not the Tucker family vegetable special."_

_"It does not contain beef broth?"_

_"Nope.  All veggies and water.  I brought ya a Georgia peach for dessert, too."_

_"Thank you, Commander."_

_"You're welcome, T'Pol.  I know you're worried about the Captain, but –"_

_"I am concerned about the welfare of this ship."_

_~~_

In spite of Charlie Tucker's attempts to make these quarters comfortable by manipulation of the environmental controls, I cannot suppress the shiver that overtakes me.  The typical longing that normally accompanies memories of my time with Commander Tucker is now joined by intense sensations of grief.  For every wrong move I undertook in the Expanse that lead towards my relationship with Jonathan also lead towards the death of my son. 

~~__

"You really care about him, don't ya?" 

"_I have told you repeatedly that my primary concern is this ship."_

_"Ya know, T'Pol, there's nothin' wrong with tellin' someone how ya feel about 'em."_

_"I may have lapsed in my methods, Commander, but it still remains inappropriate for a Vulcan to 'feel.'" _

_~~_

It is inappropriate for a Vulcan to dwell upon that which cannot be changed, as well. Regardless, I cannot help but linger over the potentially different life I would have had – that everyone in Koval's life may have had – if I had taken Commander Tucker's advice and been truthful with the one I held affection for.

Perhaps I would have, had the Captain returned a day later.  Commander Tucker would not have gone to the planet with Lieutenant Reed, the village would not have been attacked, and I would not have pulled away from the man who had been a source of strength for fear that he would challenge my already fragile emotional stability. 

And Koval would still be alive.

I am giving into emotional fluctuations.  I am aware of them, but can dredge up very little effort to suppress them.  My son is dead, and I am at fault. Both Surak and his path seem far beyond my grasp.  Indeed, part of me dreads the ever impending return to Vulcan.  It shall take all of the inner strength I possess not to strangle with my bear hands the first one who bids me long life and prosperity, when my own quick death is the only way I may ever obtain prosperity again.  

Again, I feel an increased warmth.  The sensation is so strong, there can be no doubt of its intent.  I close my eyes and allow the gentle caress of my son's katra to sooth away the memories of my mistakes.  The embracement is a combination of affection, tenderness, concern, and sincerity only serves to remind me of the many times I held Koval as a child. I recall going to him in the midst of the night when there was no logical reason for Koval to be crying.  I remember reaching down into the crib where he lay and feeling the minute fingers latch firmly onto my index finger as relief flooded through my son.  I tried – in vain – to reason logically with the infant.  I told Koval that he was well fed, not in need of a change, and there was no reason for him to continue crying. My reassurances did little to ease his discomfort and he promptly began to cry with renewed vigor as I left his quarters.

Even now, I can remember the dilemma I faced standing outside his quarters.  As the sound of his sobs reached my ears, I tried to steady my resolve by reminding myself of the conversation I had engaged in with Jonathan that very morning.  Koval was four months old now, and we simply had to ignore his cries for attention when they came without reason in the middle of the night.  Otherwise, how would he ever adjust to sleeping in alone, after three months of sharing our quarters? 

I spent exactly seventy-nine seconds debating myself before the Vulcan logic lost the argument to the mother in me.  I went back in Koval's room, lifted him close to my chest, and murmured sayings of Surak quietly until he fell asleep.

Given recent events, I cannot help but be relieved at the choice I made twenty-five years ago outside Koval's quarters.  Had I chosen not to return to my son's side when he so plainly begged me to, I do not know how I could bear to continue.  

The warmth envelopes me again, and unbidden the contents of the last communication between Koval and myself return.

~~

"Why did you not meld with your father?"

"I suspect for the very reason you did not.  I could not bear to hurt him. Please understand, Mother."

~~

Unfortunately, I understand entirely too well.  Koval paid the ultimate price for the decisions made by his father and me years ago.  

The chime of my door interrupts my ruminations and I rise to give permission for the guest to enter.  I had expected either Charles, Jonathan or perhaps Charlie. Instead, my son's bondmate stands in the frame of the door.

"May I come in?"

"Certainly, Maggie.  Please make yourself comfortable."

Maggie glances around the room briefly before lowering herself onto the meditation rug in the middle of the floor.  Her movements are slow and calculating; within another month, sitting cross-legged will be an activity she will no longer be able to conduct.  When she speaks, she demonstrates a directness that is quite reminiscent of both of her parents.  "T'Pol,  I've spent the past two days alternating between crying, sleeping, and meditating.  Please know that and realize that absolutely nothing you can say will make the situation either any better or worse, but I do need you to answer me truthfully."

I have a very good idea what she is going to ask, and I would very much rather not answer her at all.  Still, it is her right. "You have my assurance that I will answer you truthfully, Maggie."

"Why did Koval refuse to meld with the Admiral?  Was it because of his heritage?"

It is not an unexpected question.  She and Koval shared a bond, and through that bond, she unquestionably was privy to all that he knew.  The sharpness of the pain associated with the remembrance of my son's bond only serves as a reminder of that which I do not have.  Indeed, that which I shall potentially never have.  She deserves, however, to know the truth.  "Yes."

To her credit, though the tears fill her eyes, they do not fall.  I suspect that such control is for my benefit, though I doubt I am worthy of such an effort.  When she speaks again, her voice is more steady than I would have expected.  "He wished to keep your secret."

"Yes."

"More than he cherished his own life?"

"His primary reason was not simply to continue deception.  He did not wish to cause Jonathan pain."

There is a lull in the conversation as Maggie contemplates what I have said.  "Why did he cut his thoughts off from me? He must have known that he was in danger. . . why did he not communicate through our bond?"

"He was in pain. He wished to spare you."

I am surprised to hear a laugh come from her.  However, the laugh holds considerable bitterness, and I discerned that it completely lacked humor. "Like father like son."  

I ignore the sentiment imbedded there.  It brings unpleasant memories that have been at the forefront of my thoughts since the moment of Koval's death.  Instead, I continue, suddenly overcome with the need to make her understand her husband's actions.  "He could not control the sensations sent through the bond.  Given your condition, Koval did not wish to cause any undue – "

"Undue? Undue? My husband – and bondmate – died, T'Pol. I hardly think any emotion or sentiment is undue. And if he was so concerned about not hurting me or the baby, why the hell didn't he think of that before he willingly gave his life?"

"He did. It was his belief that you would be able to understand his reasoning, in time."

Again there is a lull, and I wonder briefly if Koval accurately knew his wife.  She takes a deep breath before answering. "I do understand.  And in time, I'll attempt to help our son understand."

I feel the pressing of the warmth again, along with my own sense of admiration.  She is more understanding than I would be if our circumstances were the reversed.  If I were human and someone had caused the death of my bondmate, I would permit myself to revel in the hatred that would no doubt course my veins.  "Koval chose his mate well, Maggie."  

She smiles.  Koval stopped doing so at age seven when he decided to follow the path of Surak exclusively.  I frequently watched him at his most contented, with the wish that he would smile again.  Not only did I have the maternal longing to see my son content, but his human parentage was never more evident than when he smiled.  The combination of his father's blue eyes and mouth curvature made him nearly identical to Charles. 

I shall never see that smile again.

"Thank you, T'Pol.  I was honored to be his mate. And I loved him with all my being."

"As he did with you. I hope his quest to be Vulcan did not forbid him from communicating that with you."

"No, it didn't. He . . . Koval knew first hand how denying one's feelings for another could affect people. It made him determined to tell me at least once a day how much he cherished me."

The warmth returns, but is overpowered by a sensation of loss.  Had I only employed as much logic as my son, he would still be alive. But I did not. I insisted on deception which ultimately caused his death.  "While I am relieved that Koval learned from my mistake, I deeply regret that the same mistake ultimately took him from you. . . and from me."

"T'Pol." A sigh fills the air before Maggie continues.  "When I first realized why Koval chose not to meld, I was furious at you. I wanted so badly to hate you and Trip for what you've done."

"That would have been a reasonable response." 

"But I've been inside Koval's head – I've been his bondmate.  I know what you and Trip did was not done with malicious intent.  You made all the wrong choices, T'Pol, but you made them for the right reasons."

Yes, I did. But that does not change the fact that I was flawed.  "I am relieved you understand.  I would not want to miss the opportunity to know my son's offspring."

"Are you kidding? I'm going to need you more than ever.  You're my sole expert on all things Vulcan now.  Besides, Koval adored you for good reason. I want my son to have the same opportunity."

"Do you still intend to work at Space Station Four?" 

"No.  I'll be returning to Earth until the baby is born.  After his birth, I'll be moving to Alpha Centauri, to lead the Starfleet defense there."

Relief floods my system. "I am pleased.  Alpha Centauri is much closer, and will permit much more time spent with my son's offspring."

"What about you? Will you be returning to Earth. . . or staying on Vulcan?" 

The unasked question is clear.  She is more concerned with the future of my marital relationship, not my living arrangements.  " I am uncertain at this time, Maggie.  Concern with my future plans will be postponed until after the katra ceremony."

She nods and rises laboriously.  "Being bonded is a truly wonderful experience, T'Pol, and I hope it's one you experience during your lifetime." She is gone before the full impact of what she has said occurs to me. 

It occurs to me that my son's bondmate has permitted herself to indulge in questions concerning my possible future with far greater depth than I have permitted myself.  I have not ventured out of my quarters at all in the past forty-eight hours, though both Jonathan and Charles have contacted me to check on my well being.  

I was not prepared for the sensations that contact with them stirred within me.  During both instances, my sense of grief only increased, and during my conversation with Charles, I felt the full impact of my need to blame myself for what occurred.  Our conversation was short and succinct, but along with the familiar longing and affection, the conversation produced nothing short of mental pain.  

I cannot help but reflect upon the fact that my last legitimate tie to Jonathan is gone.   Following the katra ceremony, perhaps there will be no need to maintain association with my husband.  But if this ache that I associate for the first time with Charles' presence does not end – and I do not see how it could – then I do not see how I could possibly remain in Charles' presence.  The sorrow from a three minute comm. conversation was agonizing.  I suspect that prolonged exposure to his presence may make the remorse and pain unbearable.   Though my affection for Charles has not diminished,  I am uncertain that I shall ever be able to shed the burden of  responsibility for Koval's death that accompanies Charles' presence.  Will I ever be able to revel in his presence without knowing that our union was not only a source of pleasure, but a source of remorse and pain as well? 

Remorse and pain.  Two sensations that some Vulcans would deny the existence of.  I would have once, and I long for the days in which I knew such naivety.  

As grief and longing for my t'hy'la and my son overwhelm my senses, Koval's katra presses gently against my consciousness.  Conceding that attempts at meditation have failed, I lie on the bed and surrender to my son's presence.    

()()()()()()()()()()

To Be Continued. . . 

A/N, II:  the camping scene came to my muse via Tammy Cochrane's song, "Angels in Waiting," which I also do not own.  


	7. Bitter Harvest: Trip's POV

Fulfilled 

Chapter 7

Bitter Harvest 

Trip's POV 

Spoilers:  Not really, but random quotes from "Broken Bow," and "Desert Crossing."

_~~_

The warmth of the Vulcan wind reminds me, in a lot of ways, of my grandparent's farm in Alabama.  Every summer my parents would pack up Robbie, Lizzie, and me and we'd spend a least a week with Grandma and Grandpa Tucker.  The heat in northern Alabama was a much dryer one than we were accustomed to, and we'd complain about it to no end. Especially me.  I've never much cared for hot places that didn't have an ocean near by.  

~~

_" If__ it's all the same to you, Cap'n, I'll sit this one out."_

_" It's__ not like you to pass up an away mission."  
" Well, I'm up to my ears in work. The impulse manifolds need to be purged, the gravity plating on C deck still isn't aligned..."  
" Trip..."_

_"Desert, sir?__ The heat, the dry air; you know how it sucks the life outta me."_

_"What about the two weeks we spent in __Australia__? We had a great time."_

_"Survival training in the Outback?__ Drinking recycled sweat and eating snake meat? That's your idea of a great time?"_

_"It's not going to be like that. I get the feeling Zobral' s a man who likes to indulge his guests. He's promised to roll out the red carpet for us. It'll be more fun than purging impulse manifolds...  Aah, suit yourself. I'll see if Malcom' s interested...but I was hoping you'd enjoy spending some time with your captain."_

_~~_

Damn memories. I won't. . . I _*can't* _think about the Admiral right now.  

When I was younger, I used to love to follow my grandfather around on the farm.  He was the last in a long line of Tucker farmers.  He used to worry about that, though at the time I had no idea why he thought it was so important.  In those days, I walked with carefree child abandon, enjoying the pure bliss of warm Alabama clay over my naked feet.  

~~~

_"Trip," he would say, "the world's a lot like a garden."_

_"But grandpa, what's that mean?" I would ask, expecting in my childish foolishness a straight answer.  _

_"Take for instance these seeds," grandpa would say, fingering the objects in his hands as a demonstration.  "Know what these seeds are for, Trip?"_

_"Tomatoes."_

_"Yep, that's right.  And if you plant them with care, and make sure to cover them, the sun and rain will do the rest, and come harvest time, you'll have a nice crop of tomatoes."_

_"And grandma can make fried tomatoes?" _

_Chuckling, grandpa nodded.  "That's kinda how it is in life, Trip.  If you plant your seeds with care, your harvest will be sweet.  But, if you're careless in how you plant your seeds, you'll have a bitter harvest."_

~~~

Yep, that about sums it up, grandpa.  

How's the old cliché go? You reap what you sow? 

Twenty-five years ago, I walked away from T'Pol when she confessed how she felt for me. I had no idea at the time that the seeds I was sowing.

~~

_"T'Pol, I don't understand. Why didn't Koval meld with the Admiral?"_

_"Because he has long known the truth of his parentage."___

_~~_

But, damn it, I wasn't trying to hurt anybody.  Just the opposite of it, in fact. How the hell did everything get so messed up? Why, when all I ever tried to do was protect the people I love most, did those very same people end up either suffering because of me? How is that reaping what I sowed? 

Goddamnit, I'm sorry! I may have lied to my best friend, but I was only trying to protect him.  I was trying to keep him from hurting.  Maybe it wasn't the best method, or hell, maybe it was a crappy thing to do.  But it's not like I was being selfish.  If I had wanted to be selfish, I would have told T'Pol that her feelings were very much reciprocated, and she and I would have eloped, moved to San Francisco, raised Koval and Charlie together, and spend the last quarter of a century _happy. _

Dear God, I tried.  I tried to do the right thing.  I'm pretty damn certain that everything would have worked out better if I had been a selfish bastard.  I would have lost a friend, but that friend wouldn't be mourning the loss of the man he thought was his son.  T'Pol wouldn't be mourning the loss of her son.  If twenty-five years ago, I had simply claimed what was offered, Koval would still be alive, and Maggie wouldn't have lost her husband.  My grandson wouldn't have lost his father. 

Surely all of _this _can't be penance for one stupid lie to my friend that I only told in the first place in order to keep from hurting him.  When will I have paid enough? I lost the woman I love. I lost my wife.  I lost twenty-five years that I could have spent happy.  I lost my son. No, scratch that. I lost two sons.  One died, and the other is quite likely to never speak to me again. Not that I blame him.  He's living with the knowledge that his father killed his brother. If I were in his shoes, I'd never speak to me again either. 

~

_"Trip, what are you doing?"_

_The struggle between Malcolm and me lasted only briefly before the tactical officer disabled the engineer.  _

_"Stand down, Lieutenant. That's an order."_

_"It's an order I can't follow, Commander."_

_"And why the hell not?"___

_"Because you just shot an innocent Xindi primate child."___

_~~_

I later found out that the child's name was Tegar.  I've grieved more than once for killing him.  But now my thoughts center on Tegar's parents.  I left them to mourn the loss of their child, a fate I would wish for no one. Killing them along with Tegar would have been much more humane. 

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Tegar, more so than usual. It's only appropriate, for a couple of  reasons.   Mainly, because I've killed yet another child.  Koval may have been twenty-five years old, but he was my youngest son.  In my heart, he'll always be that same blue eyed Vulcan infant wrapped in blankets to protect him from the "cool air" of the San Francisco June wind. 

That's also when everything starting going down hill.  That's when the friendship that had grown for two and a half years between T'Pol and me stopped its forward progression.  I suppose it's also when I stopped being a potential mate for her.  It's easy enough for me to understand why.  Vulcans spend their life trying to suppress their emotions. They'd never want to spend their life with someone who indulged in the worst of them.

I remember grieving after Lizzie, though, and it was an entirely different type of grief. That pain cut to the very core. Every step I took, every breath I breathed, every gesture I made, only served to reinforce the pain of loosing Lizzie.  This time around, it's a duller ache.  Not less painful – oh, of course not. But whereas Lizzie's death felt like I was having a knife stabbed in my heart every day, since Koval died, it feels like I'm being smothered to death. 

What's left to lose? I'm not suicidal, but I don't know if I have enough strength in me left to care whether death comes.  I'm tired. I'm hurt.  I'm lonely. God, I'm just so _tired.  _At this point, I'd welcome almost anything to end it.  I really don't have the energy to talk, but seeing the approaching Vulcan, I suppose I'm going to have to find some.  

"Commissioner Tucker?" 

"Yes?" 

"I am Tovel and I have come to alert you to the fact that Ambassador T'Pol has been adequately prepped for the ceremony.  I will escort you to the ceremonial temple."

I nod and rise to follow him.  

"May I ask you a question, Commissioner?" 

"Call me Trip, Tovel, and you can ask me anything you wish."

Tovel glances at me sharply. It's a look of Vulcan reprove, and one I've seen many times on both Koval and T'Pol's faces.  

"It would be inappropriate for me to call you anything other than by your title, Commissioner."

~~

_"Trip.__  I'm called Trip."_

_"I'll try to remember that."_

_~~_

Shaking the memory away as violently as I can, I try to focus on the present.  "Go ahead, Tovel."

"What was your relationship with Lieutenant Koval?" 

Well, it appears I spoke too soon. There are those sharp knives, just in time to stab me in the heart.  "I was kind of like an uncle to him," I respond, wondering vaguely if the term uncle has a Vulcan equivalent.  

Apparently, it does.  "You are Admiral Archer's brother?" 

Did I mention they were very _large _knives_?_  Butcher knives, in fact.   "In a figurative sense, more than a literal one, Tovel."

The ensuing cock of the head is so achingly familiar that it physically _hurts. _ "I see.  May I ask another question?"

"Sure thing."

"I was under the impression that Starfleet needed you for diplomatic relations with the Coridians.  I can see why they relented in the case of the Admiral and Ambassador, but not why they would have relented in the case of a . . . non-relative.  Regardless of how affectionate you may have been with Koval."  

"I guess that doesn't seem very logical to you, does it, Tovel?"

"What does not seem logical to me is an attempt to negotiate with a species that is clearly not in compliance with the Federation charter.  However, given Starfleet's apparent illogic involved in the handling of the Coridians, I would assume that they would be difficult to persuade."

Calling the conversation with Williams 'difficult' has to be the understatement of the year. "You could say that, Tovel.  Let's just say I made it clear that they'd have to find someone else to monitor the Kowl colony if they tried to keep me away from Koval's ceremony."

The height of Tovel's eyebrows is surely one for the record books.  Never mind knives.  Cleavers.  "You blackmailed Starfleet with your resignation?" 

"Blackmail's a strong word, Tovel. Let's just say I made their options and mine very apparent." 

"I see."  

We have arrived at a large stone structure carefully guarded by six very large Vulcans with very large muscles.  I don't know what they call the weapons they have, but for some reason, they make me instantly think of the stories Kov has told me about Vulcan's violent past. 

Kov. _Koval_.  

Walking past the hooded Vulcans, Tovel and I enter the structure and despite my pain, I can't help but marvel at the pure beauty of the interior.  The combination of paintings and carvings puts any artist that Earth has ever known to shame.  

As I take my place beside the Admiral and Maggie, I turn to see T'Pol laying with her eyes closed on a stone table approximately a half a kilometer in front of us.  She's surrounded by eight female Vulcans dressed entirely in white robes.  T'Pol's wearing one as well, which makes her look even more regal and beautiful than ever.  

The oldest of the Vulcans steps forward and carefully surveys Maggie, the Admiral, and myself before she speaks. "What is your relationship to thee owner of the katra?" 

Damnit, why this question again? 

"I am his _telsu_ and mother of his child." 

His bonded.  I'm so sorry, Maggie, and my dear grandson, I'd give my very life to make this right. 

"I am his father." 

And I'm sorry, Admiral, for screwing everything up.  

"I'm his . . . uncle." 

At least, that's as close as I can get to telling you the truth.

The Vulcan woman leans forward on her cane to stare at me closer.  My heart skips a beat as I remember that Vulcans are telepaths.  I'm also pretty sure that the Vulcans in this place have to be the best telepaths of the bunch.  

"Indeed.  You share eye pigmentation with your nephew."  

I can only stare at the woman, wondering how the hell she knew that, but she ignores me as she starts turns back to Maggie and asks, "What is your relationship to the holder of the katra?"

Oh, an even better question. 

"She is the _ko-mek__ t' sa-telsu_." 

The old Vulcan nods her head in approval of Maggie's Vulcan.  

"She is my wife."

Which you have no idea how to say in Vulcan. 

"She is my friend."

It's probably my imagination, but I could swear the woman looks right through me at that point. Fortunately, she finally decides I'm not that interesting and begins to speak. 

"The actual ceremony must be conducted in Vulcan, but as you are all outworlders, I will explain what we are about to do in Federation Standard.  The katra of Koval, son of Jonathan Archer, son of Henry Archer –"

~~

_Trip. . . Father . . . I was glad to be your son._

_~~_

The only thing getting me through this ceremony is the fact that I deserve every amount of pain it's bringing me.  

"-has been brought by his mother T'Pol, daughter of T'Mel, daughter of Savona, to Mount Seleya so that it may achieve final rest." 

The woman takes her place by T'Pol's head and places her fingers along the side of T'Pol's face.  As she begins speaking in Vulcan, I sneak a glance at Maggie, whose fingers trail her slightly bulging stomach as she follows along, and the Admiral, who can only look grieved.  

The full impact of what has happened – what I helped to cause – hits me in that moment.  

My thoughts shift to my grandmother.  Grandma used to staunchly refuse to invest in new technologies, because she liked the old way better.  Especially sewing – she loved to sew. I used to sit at her feet after dinner, listening to the stories she would tell as she did her sewing. 

~~

"Grandma, whatcha doin'?" 

_"I'm putting a patch on your summer pants, Trip. There's no reason you can't still use these." _

_"But Grandma, why can't I just get a different pair?"_

_"Because life doesn't work that way, Trip.__ Keep this in mind – in life you're gonna have tears, and when you do, you can't just start from scratch.  The tear will always be ther,e until you do something to fix it. You'll have to find a way to patch it up."_

_~~_

How the hell am I ever going to patch _this _up?

~~

To Be Continued. . . 


	8. Loss: Maggie's POV

Fulfilled

Chapter 8

Maggie's POV

~~

_A Week Later_

_~~_

"Are you sure you don't need me to come out there, love?"  

"No, Dad.  I'm fine, really."

"You're certain? Because your mother and I can be on a ship out to Vulcan tomorrow." 

Oh, yes, _this _is Admiral Malcolm Reed, the same one who struck fear into the heart of Xindi, Klingon, and Romulan alike? Hardly. "Dad, I appreciate the sentiment, but it isn't necessary.  Besides, I'm staying with Koval's grandmother.  One emotional human is enough for T'Mel to cope with."

Dad nods reluctantly.  "Alright, love, if you're certain it's necessary. But if you change your mind, you be sure to let me know, and I'll readily tell Starfleet to bugger off in order to be there for you."

Somehow the image makes me want to smile.  I try my best to project that rare sense of joy to my unborn son, who of late has only felt my feelings of distress.  "Dad, I think enough former Enterprise crewmembers have told Starfleet to bugger off this month," I remark, as lightly as possible. I try not to focus on why exactly former Commander Tucker was doing the said telling. 

Dad's face contorts into a grin as well and he leans back in his chair to stroke his beard, apparently lost in thought.  "Ah, yes.  You know, Maggie, I just happened to be having a meeting with Admiral Williams when Trip called.  While I of course felt horrible for you, love, I must confess that I enjoyed seeing Trip back in his argumentative state.  For a moment, it felt as though we were back on the _Enterprise__._"  The wistful expression that crosses my father's face is a familiar one – it's one I've seen cross his face many times in my childhood when he would discuss his time on _Enterprise. _

"I'm sure it was a sight worth seeing, Dad. Though I have to confess that I can't ever quite see Trip anywhere near as argumentative as your stories paint him."

"Never be fooled, love.  Every argument Trip Tucker and I ever had was started by that man."

"I'm sure it was, Dad," I say with not a large amount of conviction.  I can hear a ruckus behind him, and take that as my cue.  "Hey, I'd like to say my goodbyes to everyone before they leave.  I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Alright. If you're sure you don't need us to come out there –"

"Save the energy and wait until your grandson is born."

 At the mention of my son, Dad's face splits into an even larger smile.  "You take good care of my grandson, Margaret Madeline."

"I will, Dad."  After all, he's the only part of Koval I have left. 

"Make sure someone on Vulcan notifies us the moment you go into labor, alright?"

"Okay, Dad."

We say our goodbyes and I turn off the vidphone.  Left alone, the familiar feelings of dread, loneliness and heartache threaten to overwhelm me.  Truth be told, there are days when I want nothing more than to pack everything up and return home.  Mom and Dad would welcome me back with open arms, I am certain of it.  On the other hand, if I returned home, I might just crawl back into my childhood bed, pull the covers up over my head, and never leave. 

I can't do that.  Koval wouldn't want me to do that, and it isn't fair to my son to do that. 

My son.  I still remember the very day Koval and I found out we were expecting a child.  The baby was a surprise, definitely, but a very welcome one. For both of us.  

~~~

_"Koval!__ Put me down!"_

_"I apologize, Aduna.  It appears I allowed my emotions to overtake me."_

_"Well, your secret's safe with me, Koval.  I take it that you are . . . pleased?"_

_"I am extremely pleased, Maggie.  I may be the most pleased Vulcan currently occupying this specific section of the space-time continuum."_

_"I'm glad you're happy, Koval."_

_"Are you, Aduna?"_

_"Oh,yes, Koval.  Are you serious? This baby – it's part of us. It's going to be a living, breathing proof of how happy I am."_

_"Vulcans believe that each successive generation is an opportunity for the previous one to improve upon mistakes made in the past."_

_"Really?__ Well, that makes me feel a lot better, but I'm still nervous Koval." _

_"I assure you from personal experience,  a child's affection for their parent is unconditional.  Nonetheless, I look forward to improving upon my parent's previous unwise judgments."_

~~

It hurts to think how good of a father Koval would have been. He would have be so loving and attentive to our son.  Now he'll never have the chance. 

A week ago,  I didn't want to get up out of bed.  It was also frequently hard to eat.  But I keep reminding myself that I'm living for two.  It is hard, at times, but I think my son's presence forces me have to be strong because I do not wish to be unhealthy.  There have still be days during this past week that I have cried all day, even while trying to stay strong for my son.  I don't suppose I've properly grieved yet. But I can't. I won't risk it affecting my son.  I cannot help but remember a conversation I had with T'Pol just before we arrived to Vulcan.

~~

_"I want to meld with you.  I want to know what my husband felt before he passed."_

_"I understand your desire for a meld. However, you must understand how potentially harmful that would be to your child."_

_"T'Pol, I know how to meditate.  I can control-"_

_"I have no doubt that you would attempt to.  Perhaps you are unaware that Vulcan offspring form an empathetic bond with their mothers during their incubation.  I am not certain whether that will affect you, as your child is only a quarter Vulcan, yet –"_

_"You knew."_

_"To what are you referring?"_

_"When you confessed to Trip, you knew you were pregnant with Koval."_

_"NO.  If I had known at the time, I would have told him.  I did not recognize Koval's presence until after Charles had rejected me."_

_"Then that's why you married Archer?  To give Koval a father?"_

_"In part.__  It seemed logical at the time.  My son needed a father – a human father.  Charles had made it clear that he did not want me.  Jonathan did.  While I held greater affection for Charles, I did consider Jonathan my friend. While my logic was flawed, my intentions were pure."_

_"You never told Koval that."_

_"No.  For the same reason that I did not flee back into Charles' arms with the news of his son.  I did not wish my son's conception to ever be considered a matter of obligation or a burden, either to him, or to his father."_

_~~_

Thus, I force myself to get up, and out of bed every day. I force myself to crawl into the shower.  I force myself to eat three square meals a day, and at least two healthy snacks.  Though the food has as much taste as cardboard, I eat it.  I lost two pounds the first two days after Koval's death, but I've gained four back.  I'm determined to keep gaining, too.  I'm devastated by Koval's loss, but I am relieved that I have a part of him with me.  My grief will not come between my son and me. I will not allow it.  

My son and I.  The time will come soon when I will have to come up with a name for him, and the very thought of choosing his name without his father's input hurts me to the very core.  Before his death, Koval and I  had excitedly tossed around potential names.  One thing Koval wanted to make clear was the issue of surnames. 

~~

_"I wish for our son to bear your last name."_

_"You want him to be a Reed? The Admiral won't like that very much."_

_"I am aware of the Admiral's potential discomfort, Maggie. However, since the child is truly a Tucker, I cannot name him as an Archer.  Thus, I would wish to give him your name, as it is the only surname that is honest."_

_~~_

Koval had such love for our son.  No matter how much I want to love and care for him so that he won't feel like he's missing a parent, I will always know that I could never provide an accurate substitute for the type of father Koval could have been. 

There are days I allow myself to get really angry at Koval for what he did.  But I know I'm not really angry at him.  I do understand what he did and why he did it.  For all that he tried to deny human emotion, he was the most gentle and loving man I ever met.  That's the reason I married him. How could I continuing being angry at him for it? 

Though, I am dreading the inevitable day when my son asks me, "Mommy, where's my daddy?" No, his sa-mekh.  But I can't think about that now.  It would cause the child too much distress.  

Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, I realize that I had better go if I'm going to get the chance to say goodbye to Koval's parents.  After all, it takes me ten times as long to get anywhere lately. 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

When I arrive at the gathering site, all three of them are there , along with Savona, T'Pol's grandmother. I'm glad to see T'Pol up and running.  During the first two days after the katra ceremony, she was having substantial difficulty.  I didn't question what it was, but from what I was able to piece together, it had to do with her difficulty controlling her emotions. She looks well enough that I suppose it was a temporary problem. 

"Maggie, glad to see you could make it," Trip greets me.  The faux happiness in his voice doesn't fool me. I know how deeply he has mourned this week.  It's probably Trip I feel sorriest for. After all, the others have an inherent right to grieve, without anyone questioning why.  Trip doesn't have that right – at least not in the eyes of the rest of the world.  But I'm glad he managed to make it to Koval's katra ceremony.  Koval would have wanted him here. 

"Well, Trip, I would have been here earlier, but it takes me a bit longer to walk from spot A to spot B these days," I retort. "Besides, my father was regaling me with tales of your stubbornness."

"I'll have you know, there is no one more stubborn in the universe than your father, Maggie.  Every argument we ever had was his fault."

"Really? He seems to have a different perspective."

"I bet he does.  You've heard about the shuttle pod one incident, haven't you?" 

Oh, god.  "Only about four million times, Trip."

Trip smiles, and embraces me in a hug.  "Take care of yourself, squirt.  And take care of that baby," he whispers in my ear before letting go.  As he pulls away, I can see that there are tears in his eyes, which he tries to hide by ducking quickly into the shuttle pod that will take them back to their ship. 

"You are certain you wish to remain here, instead of moving to your next post?" T'Pol asks. Her voice is steady enough.  

"Yes, T'Pol.  I feel calmer here."  It's the truth.  

"Then Live long and prosper, Maggie.  If I can be of assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me."

She too turns and enters the shuttle pod and I'm left with Archer, who also feels compelled to hug me goodbye. "Take good care of my grandson, Maggie."

"I will, Admiral."

"If there's anything you need, anything at all –"

"I'll contact you immediately." 

"Be sure you do."

"Admiral, make sure you pilot that thing safely."

"Maggie, I can pilot a starship.  I'm sure I can pilot a shuttle pod safely to the rendezvous point."  He gives me one last pat on the stomach – an action I have always hated – before turning, walking into the shuttle pod, and closing the hatch behind him.

Savona and I watch the shuttle pod as it takes off and remain watching as it disappears from sight.  Turning towards Savona, I notice that she doesn't look nearly as old as she did a week ago, when she was performing the katra ceremony.  

"Those three I do not understand," she remarks.  

"They're difficult," I admit.  

"Indeed. Though perhaps I now know the reason my T'Pol has chosen not to bond with her mate."

The surprise must have shown on my face for Savona explains, "It is obvious, to a Vulcan."

"Really?" 

"Yes.   Come, Maggie, you need to eat."

"I've already eaten."

"You can eat again.  Vulcan males tend to reach exorbitant lengths during their conception."

Though I follow her, I remind her gently, "My son will only be a quarter Vulcan, Lady Savona."

"Yes, I am aware of that.  Mother would have taken great pleasure in knowing both Koval and Koval's impending offspring."

I briefly do the math necessary.  "T'Mir?"

"Yes. You have heard the story of Mestral before?"

"Absolutely. It was one of Koval's favorites."

"Koval was a very bright child."

"Seems to be a familial trait." 

"On the subject of familial traits, I do hope your child inherits the same eye pigmentation as his father."

So do I. 

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Three hours later, I am awoken from a very comfortable sleep by T'Mel, who tells me that I have an incoming comm message.  Groggily, I reach for the communication counsel on the desk. 

As the picture comes into view, I am somewhat surprised to Soval himself.  "Greetings, Ambassador."

"Greetings, Lieutenant Reed.  I have news regarding Ambassador T'Pol, Commissioner Tucker, and Admiral Archer."

A nauseous feeling begins to stir in my stomach that has nothing to do with my son. "News?"  I try to make my voice sound calm. After all, I am on a planet of Vulcans.  Panicking is the last thing I wish to do in front of them. 

"As you know, they were scheduled to meet the _Antares_in their shuttle pod, just outside of the Vulcan solar system.  They did not make the rendezvous point in time."

"Perhaps they are just moving slow. They did leave later than they intended."

Soval shakes his head.  "The _Antares_has just completed a full sweep of the Vulcan solar system, Maggie.  There are no shuttle pods anywhere near here, nor are we picking up any distress signals."

"I see. Thank you, Ambassador, for notifying me."

Soval pauses long enough to prove he has been around humans too long.  "Live long and prosper, Maggie," he says before ending the connection. 

Live long and  prosper? What kind of cruel joke is that?  My bondmate is dead, and the three people he died to protect are missing in action, possibly dead as well. 

Gripping my pillow tightly, I take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.  Feeling the baby kick restlessly inside of me, I try in vain to calm the child.  "It's okay, sweetie.  Mommy's sorry she got upset.  But it's okay.  Everything's going to be okay.  Your grandparents will be just fine."

The kicking doesn't subside, and I'm not surprised.  I don't really believe it either. 

~~~

To Be Continued. . . . 

A/N:  Sorry. 


	9. Lost: Archer's POV

Fulfilled 

Chapter 9

~~

Lost 

_Archer's POV _

~~

God, my head hurts.  Come to think about it, my side is killing me too.  Vaguely, I can hear T'Pol yelling – no, that's wrong, T'Pol doesn't yell. Yet she is.  If she's awake, why is it so cold in our room? She shouldn't be hogging the blankets if she's already awake. It's not logical. Or very nice.

"Jonathan, wake up."  

Strange, those don't feel like T'Pol's hands on my arm.  They're a bit too rough.  

"Jon, wake up, damnit."

Why is Trip in our bedroom? With a groan, I open my eyes and immediately regret that action. Squeezing them shut again, I try in vain to will away the headache throbbing behind my eyes.  In retaliation, the pain spreads and begin to attack the pressure points behind my ears. 

"Jonathan, wake up!"  I'm clearly still dreaming.  T'Pol sounds nearly hysterical.

"T'Pol, it's going to be okay," says what must be Dream Trip.  After all, when has Trip ever tried to comfort T'Pol?

"No it is not! It will never be alright ever again." 

With a good deal of difficulty, I manage to open my eyes.  Sunlight makes me regret that decision.  "Damnit. Trip, T'Pol, could you two lay off the fighting and act civil for once?"

When my eyes finally find their focus, I can see the worried faces of both Trip and T'Pol looming over me.  Both have smudges on their faces, and a small trickle of green on T'Pol's cheek indicates a recent scratch.  All of which makes sense when I realize that I'm lying flat on my back in a shuttle pod.

I'm unable to stop a groan from escaping my lips as I force myself into a sitting position. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by a Klingon battleship shortly after clearing the Vulcan solar system," Trip reported. 

"That I remember.  Everything else is a bit of a blank."

"You were knocked unconscious during the attack," Trip supplied. 

Well, that certainly explains why my head hurts to badly. 

"As the _Antares_was not yet at the rendezvous point, we had little choice other than to attempt to navigate the Tular Nebula," T'Pol explained.  "It was our hope that we could effectively hide from the Klingons until the _Antares_showed up." 

"It did stop the attack," Trip remarked. "But the damage to the shuttle screwed up the navigational controls and we couldn't steer clear of the wormhole inside the nebula."

A wormhole inside a nebula.  Well, that's certainly different.  "So, where are we now?" 

Did I just see T'Pol shrug? :No, no. T'Pol doesn't shrug. Damn, I must have hit my head a lot harder than I thought.  "We are on a planet approximately fifty light years from our previous location."

"Did we crash?"

"More like an emergency landing, Admiral."

"Well, Trip, it's been a while since you've been in engineering, but it looks like we're going to need your talents." 

"Regardless of Commissioner Tucker's expertise, there is a gravitational distortion on this planet which will prevent exiting the planet's atmosphere.  Our best hope is to be rescued," T'Pol informs me. 

"Well, the news just keeps getting better and better.  I don't suppose we were able to get a distress signal out?"

"Nope.  The communications and you got knocked out at the same time."

"Are those fixable?"

"I think so.  We can probably fashion some type of SOS. But it's gonna take a while.  I didn't exactly pack in anticipation of this happening, Admiral."

"Get started." Realizing that my headache's eased up somewhat, I stand up.  "Meanwhile, I'm going to explore our surroundings a bit."

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}  
Five minutes later, as I'm running for my life back to the shuttle, I realize exploring was not the wisest idea I've ever had.  

Trip and T'Pol look up from the communication console when as I slam the hatch shut just in time to hear the loud crunch of claws against the hull and the angry wails of the animal it belongs to.  

"Are  you alright,  Jon?" Trip asks in genuine concern. 

"Yeah. Just a little scratch," I assure him.  "But I think leaving the shuttle is out of the question.  There's a pack of pretty hungry carnivores out there."

"Why did you not think to stun them?" I could swear T'Pol sounded exasperated.  

"I did, T'Pol. Apparently the same distortion that keeps us from leaving the planet makes our weapons pretty useless."

T'Pol stands suddenly. "I must meditate." 

I exchange a look with Trip, who looks much less confused than I am. 

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

"_Admiral's Starlog, Stardate 1234.34_

_We've been stuck on this planet a week.  Trip's progress on the communication console is going as slow as can be expected.  If we ever get rescued, I am going to suggest to Starfleet that each and every shuttle be equipped with a full set of engineering maintenance tools. These emergency kits that they currently house just don't cut it.    _

_The good news, or semi-good news, anyway, is that the planet's indigenous carnivores leave us for about an hour a day.  T'Pol believes they're going to some type of water source.  Whatever the reason, it gives time to breathe fresh air and gather food.  Fortunately, we managed to land next to an area with plenty of edible plant life_ –"

My log is interrupted by the sound of T'Pol's voice. "You must increase your productivity."

"I'm workin' as fast as I can, T'Pol," Trip responds. 

"Work faster!" 

"T'Pol!"  My exclamation is due more to the fact that T'Pol never shouts.  Never. The fact that she is shouting now, is more than a little disgruntling. "Trip's doing the best he can.  Maybe you should meditate again."  God help me, I never thought I'd ever be suggesting T'Pol meditate.  

"It is extremely difficult to meditate with you insisting on keeping those logs and making them as long and loud as possible.  Do I need to remind you that Vulcan hearing is superior?" 

"No –"

"How then do you expect me to meditate with the noise you are making?" 

"T'Pol, I'm sure Jon's done now. I should have the distress signal ready to send anytime in the next three hours, okay?" To my utter amazement, Trip is consoling T'Pol.  Even more to my amazement, it seems to work. 

"I . . . I apologize for my outburst, Charles.  Of course you are working as fast as you possibly can."  T'Pol retreats to the back of the shuttlepod without spearing us another look. 

While T'Pol's outburst is disturbing, I suppose it can be linked to the katra experience on Vulcan.  I don't really understand exactly what happened, and I'm not sure I completely believe that bit about carrying Koval's thoughts inside her, but whatever happened only compounded Koval's death for her. 

Koval.  I wonder if and when that pain is ever going to go away.  I can't imagine that it will.  He was my _son. _My own flesh and blood.  The pain will never end, I'm certain of it. 

_Admiral. . . I was proud to be your son. _

I was proud to be his father.  I wonder if he knew that.  I rarely told him. Hell, most of our time together was spent arguing. 

~~

_"It's a kite, Koval."_

_"What purpose does it serve?"_

_"It doesn't have a real purpose-it's kind of like a toy."_

_"A most illogical way to spend time."___

_"Well, it's a human pastime. I thought you and I could spend it together. I'll show you how to fly it. It'll be fun."_

_"Vulcans do not have fun, father."___

_"And you are not a full Vulcan, Koval."_

~~

Stupid, stupid arguments.  So many years, so much time wasted.  If I had only known how short our time together was, I would have treasured each and every second even more.  If I had only known that I'd never hear his voice again, I would have memorized every word he ever said, and counted how many times he said the word "logical."  Never once would I have wasted even a nanosecond of time arguing about Koval's preference for the Vulcan lifestyle over human. Charlie Tucker's words about being a better father keep echoing inside my head. 

It's cruelly ironic, really.  Since Koval was born, everything I planned, I planned in the expectation that I would leave him long before he left me.  After all, that's what happened with my own father, and being that Koval was Vulcan it was twice as likely to be true in his case as well.  I foolishly believed that I'd always have him near to me.   So sure that I continued to waste precious time fighting with him over trivial things.  

Nor would I have spent the last year worrying about the state of my marriage.  The past week, I've spent a lot of time thinking about a lot of things – Koval, T'Pol, life in general.  Just two weeks ago, my marriage was a burden to me.  Now I'm clinging to it like a lifeline.  

It might seem silly, really.  We don't talk much anymore.  We've not told each other the other was cherished or loved in months, if not years.  Our day to day routine has been ruled by quiet dual-residence for years now.  Hell, I don't even remember the last time we made love. 

But T'Pol is the only other person in the universe that knows what I'm feeling – and Vulcan or no, she feels it too. I haven't said anything while we're here on the planet, because Trip is here, and it would be inappropriate, but as soon as we get off this planet, I want to sit down with T'Pol and have a real heart to heart talk.  I never stopped loving her, after all.  Maybe there's hope she still cares for me too.  Because I can't bear being alone anymore.  I've lost my son.  I can't lose my wife too.   I need T'Pol.  I only hope that I can convince her that she needs me too. 

~~~

To Be Continued. . . 


	10. Need: T'Pol's POV

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Fulfilled 

Rating: R

Chapter 10

_Need. _

T'Pol's POV

********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*******

**Hey, this chapter is officially rated R.  At least, it's stronger than PG-13, I think. Eh, you've probably guessed why by now.  Also please realize that this chapter is supposed to be somewhat jumpy and disjointed, for the same reason that it's rated R. **

********~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*******

Twenty-five years have elapsed since the last time I  held him.  I have spent every one of those years waiting patiently for the chance to touch him again.  My patience grows increasingly short as I remain trapped in this shuttle with the two of them. Have I not waited long enough? Twenty-five years is three point five cycles – three point five times I should have experienced unbridled passion that the fever brings to my people.  The time is typically dreaded by my people, yet my time spent with Charles makes my body ache with longing – with _want.  Pon Farr _is the only time I have been permitted his touch. For that reason, I ached to experience it again.  

It is hot. So miserably hot. My body's poor attempt at ventilation has done little but make my outfit cling uncomfortably to my skin.

He not here now, for it is his turn to retrieve food.  Instead, I am left to the company of _the other one.  _

The very fabric of the robes irritates my skin. I attempt to alleviate that irritation by rubbing, which does nothing but further irritate my skin.  

_The other one _is the reason I have not experienced a return of Charles' touch.  He is the reason I never again reveled in the feel of Charles' hands upon my skin, the taste of his lips upon mine, or the sound of his voice in my ear.

_The other one _is speaking. "Just hold on tight, T'Pol. We're bound to be rescued any day." 

He says it as thought it should be some consolation – as though it could help my condition somehow. He is a fool. The only thing that could help me is to mate with Charles. 

I itch in places I should not.  The combination of sweat, body temperature, and female excretions have made me especially uncomfortable.  I press my legs together in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort. The action does not work. 

Charles has returned. He comes to me first. __

I do not want to be rescued.  While _the other one _is here, he will be present outside this planet as well.  Does it matter if he is here? Otherwise Charles and I are alone. __

"Here ya go, T'Pol.  I know you were feeling thirsty, so I picked an extra lot of these berries. They're pretty juicy, so they should help. "

Yes, so thirsty.  _The other one _complains of it being cold, but I find it unbearably hot.  I take the berries readily and begin to devour them. My grasp is too anxious, and I have accidentally scratched his palm.  Grabbing his hand with my own, I allow my fingers to trace the red line left by the trickle of blood. 

Red. Humans associate it with passion. I associate passion with Charles, though I would never have hurt him on purpose. 

He is wrenching his hand from mine.  "T'Pol." His voice is low and soft – as tender as it was twenty –five years ago. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_"It's your time of pon far, isn't it?"_

_"How do you know of it?"_

_"Let's just say Kov and I kept in touch. How much longer do you have until . . .?"_

_"If I do not mate within the next two days, I shall die."_

_"I won't let that happen to ya, T'Pol. You're my friend, and the love of my best friend's life. I'm here and if the __Enterprise__ doesn't show up in time, I'll help you."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will not let go of his hand. 

"Help should be here any day now.  Hold on, okay?  Can you do that?" 

"No." 

"You can't?"

Why does he wish to wait? Always waiting.  I do not want to wait.  I cling to his hand.  "I do not _want_ to." 

"I know you don't, T'Pol.  But try, okay?" 

He sighs.  I do not know why.  Perhaps he is sad? Or perhaps he is rejecting me. Again.  I withdraw my hand easily.  "Go."

"T'Pol –"

"Get away from me."

Gathering my berries, I turn away from him, so that my back is facing him and concentrate on consumption of my fruit.  Behind me the males prattle without purpose. 

"Thank you for trying to comfort her, Trip.  That was nice of you."

"You don't have to act so surprised, Jon. It's not like I've spent the past 25 years fighting with her."

"I didn't mean it like that, Trip."

"I know you didn't.  I'm sorry.  I'm just worried."

"You think I'm not? She's my _wife, _Trip."

The juice that dribbles down my chin is sweet and wet.  They remind me of Trip's kisses.  I want to feel those lips on my skin again. I want to feel the warm wetness of his tongue inside my mouth. I want to feel the pain of longing as his tongue is withdrawn, only to be overwhelmed by the intolerable pleasure that accompanied the tongue's journey down my body.  

I must stop these thoughts.  Trip. . . _Charles_ is correct.  I must wait.  He will only reject me again. What alternative do I have? 

There is a voice beside me.  "T'Pol, I'm not sure, but I think maybe you're affected with the same disease that T'Zal had.  Is that right?"

"Yes." 

"Look, T'Pol, I know we haven't had the easiest marriage the past couple years, but I still love you, and I'm here for you."

_The other one _is an alternative. I grasp his hands in mine, and feel his fingers across my cheek  His touch does  nothing to sooth the fire that threatens to consume my veins. 

Letting go of his hand, I pull my face away from him. "No."

"T'Pol, you'll have to do something."

"I do not need _you _to tell me about my condition, Jonathan.  Leave me."

He hovers in my space still, and I turn so that my back is now facing him.  The shift in position allows me to see Charles again.  Though he continues to eat, he is watching us – me.  

His shirt is open at the top, revealing a small portion of his chest.  Humans are made most illogically. Their heart resides in an area so prominent that it would be easy to pierce if an enemy wished to.  Vulcans were built with their hearts encased lower, with less vulnerability. 

Yet the location of his heart allows me to still look upon his face while still being able to listen to the steady beat of his heart. I want to be able to do that again. 

But he has asked me to wait. I fear I will not be able to wait much longer. 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

He continues to eat.  His fingers carry the nuts to his mouth. Those fingers once caressed the my skin.  They were both tender and rough, depending on exactly what I wanted them to be.  Trip's touches always knew exactly what I yearned for at the exact time I yearned for them.  I want to feel his touch again. I ache for it.  I _need _to be back in his arms again. 

Why does he not know this?  He knew last time. Would he rather I die? I *_need*  him_. 

Yet he denies me.

()()()()()()()

What is that clicking? "Stop, stop, STOP!" I command.    
It continues.  I press my hands to my ears. The monotonous repetition is unbearable. 

Warm, strong hands grasp my arms.  "T'Pol, what's the matter?"

They are the wrong strong hands.  I pull away.  "Nothing."

"Nothing? T'Pol, you're rocking back and forth and yelling for something to stoop. Something has to be wrong."

The noise continues.  "MAKE it STOP."

"Make what stop?"

"The . . . clicking."

 "Clicking?  T'Pol, those are the planet's insects.  We can't make them stop unless we kill them all."

"Then DO it!" 

"T'Pol!" He is surprised.  I do not care about his problems at the moment. 

()()()()()()

"T'Pol, stop pacing, while you?"

"Trip is late."

"You must really be sick.  You've never called him Trip before.  And Trip will be back soon, I promise.  For god's sake, T'Pol, sit down."

I sit. Sitting reinforces my aloneness.  All I can do when I sit is hear the sound of my pulse and feel how difficult it is to breathe.  Cannot breathe. Too hot. Air too stilted.

I will leave the shuttle.  I will look for Trip.  I will breathe fresh air.

Those hands – the wrong hands again – are restraining me.   "T'Pol where the hell are you going?"

"I must find Trip."

"Trip is fine, T'Pol."

"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT." 

I am free from the wrong hands.  

"Hey, T'Pol, where ya goin'?"  The right voice returns.  I will stay.

He offers berries.  I take them and suckle them with all my might.  "Here ya go, I took longer this time because I know our water ration is pretty low.  I was able to get you some more water."  

I need him more than the water.  I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body against his.  

"T'Pol –" his voice is quiet.  The other voice is not.

"T'Pol! What are you doing?"

"You know I need to mate."  I lean further into Trip.  He is all that holds me upright now.  

"Not with Trip."  

"Jon –"

"I want to mate with TRIP."  I touch the side of his face.  "Trip.  My Trip.  I have wanted to call you that for so long.  But I have always been forced to call you Charles.  You are my Trip." 

"T'Pol-"  my t'hy'la begins.

"_Mine.  _Not Natalie's.  I am yours.  Not _his."_

Again I hear _the other one's _voice. "T'Pol, you're sick.  You don't know what you're doing."

"Trip, I need you again.  Please . . . I must.  Please, Trip.  I need you." 

My t'hy'la speaks again, but he is looking at _the other one _not me.  "You are sure you wouldn't rather . . . mate with the Admiral?"

"I will mate with you or die."

He hesitates.  "Do you want me to die, Trip?"

"No, T'Pol, of course not." 

I wipe the tears from his eyes.  "Then be with me, Trip.  Do not choose him _again.  _Do not abandon me _again.  _Please._"_

 His grip hardens. "I won't, T'Pol, I promise."

_The other one _is still speaking.  "Trip, that's my wife."

"I'm well aware of that, Admiral.  But she made it clear she's not going to mate with you. What do you want me to do, let her die? Because in case no one's ever explained _pon__ farr _to you, that's what will happen."

"How the hell do you know that? And what the hell does she mean by 'again'?"

"I don't – I don't have time to explain right now."  

"That's great, Trip. Just what am I supposed to do while you're having sex with my wife?"

"You could turn around and give us privacy."

_The other one _grows quiet.  Trip takes my hand.  "There's gonna be a mess when this is over, honey." 

"Do not leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise."

"I promise."

My years of want end. 

()()()()()()()()

The End.

Haha, just kidding. To Be Continued. . . .


	11. Once More With Feeling: Archer's POV

Fulfilled

Rating: Back to PG-13 (I think). 

Chapter 11

Once More With Feeling Archer's POV 

~~

They've been at it for three days.  Three days of practically non-stop sex between the man I've always claimed as my best friend and my wife.  I've looked forward to the half an hour each day that I've been able to escape the shuttle.  For thirty minutes each day I'm not forced to hear the sound of Trip and T'Pol having sex not three feet away, or feel the occasional stray hand or foot, usually belonging to T'Pol.  Those thirty minutes each day have been my sanctuary and I dread coming back to the shuttle.  But unless I'd like to be eaten alive by the planet's animals, I don't have much of a choice.  Though I'll admit, that with each additional moan of want from T'Pol or sigh of happiness from Trip, that option looks better and better.  You'd think they could be a little quieter. 

That isn't really fair to them, I suppose.  This shuttle's so small that the simple sound of their bodies grinding against each other seems louder than it would be otherwise.  In short, I'd be doomed to be miserable, even if T'Pol didn't have Trip up against the bulkhead.

It's funny, in a cruelly ironic way.  The past couple years, the sound of our bodies thrusting against each other has pretty much been the only sound present in our bedroom.  I'm not saying T'Pol just lied there, because her body reciprocated.  But her voice never did. I always chalked it up to the fact that she was Vulcan.  But who knows? Maybe keeping quiet was the only way she could insure that she didn't slip and call out for Trip instead.  Because her voice is damn well responding to him.  

I don't mean to sound so bitter.  I'm incredibly grateful that Trip is here.  I'm thankful that he's saving her life.  But there are just two things that keep returning me to a slightly less appreciative state.  First, there's the tiny little fact that _I'm _her husband.  Why doesn't she want _me _to save her life? Why doesn't she want my touch? She must have wanted it once.  She did agree to marry me. 

T'Pol _is _sick, though, so I could overlook the fact that she chose Trip.  It would still hurt, but I could attribute her unfaithfulness to her condition and we could pull through with the hope of rebuilding our marriage still intact. Except for the fact that one little word keeps echoing inside my head. 

_Again_.  What did she mean by "again?"

I don't have a date or a time to refer to for when the precursor to "again" happened.  

Now, even when T'Pol and Trip take a break from their. . . activities, I can't sleep.  My mind keeps wondering how long they've kept such a secret from me.  How long has T'Pol wanted to call him Trip? When did they love one another? When, how, or why did they stop? Was it because of me? Was I in the way? Was it before or after T'Pol and I became involved? Was it a mutual decision? Was someone left waiting? Who broke who's heart? Has Trip been longing for T'Pol for as long as she's apparently been longing for him?  

So many questions, and no answers.  It's not for lack of trying.  My mind's replayed every moment Trip and T'Pol have spent together and none of them give me any clue to anything that they might have felt for one another.  Their years on _Enterprise _were always characterized by fighting.  

~~

_"It's not like I've spent the past twenty-five years fighting with her."_

_~~_

How long ago was it that Trip said that? Three days, I think.  And come to think of it, he's right.  He and T'Pol have been extremely civil to one another during the course of our marriage.  

_*The entire course of my marriage.* _

Has T'Pol wanted Trip for that entire time? Has she wanted him, more than she's wanted me? When I reached for her, did she wish I were Trip instead? 

I'd never thought that T'Pol could be unfaithful.  When I announced my wedding to my aunt Melinda, the only good thing Mindy could think of to say was, "At least you'll never have to worry about a Vulcan cheating on you."  I'd believed it, even if, unlike Mindy, I knew that Vulcans did have emotions.  No one could have convinced me that T'Pol's would have ever wanted someone other than me.

I wouldn't believe it now, except for . . . "again."

It comes to my attention that they've quieted down.  I suppose they're sleeping.  It's the only time they're that quiet.   While they sleep, I'll continue to go crazy.  As they rest in the comfort of each other's arms, completely unaware of the heartache that will continue to keep me awake through most of the night, I'll lie here and feel as worn as the weeks old uniform I wear.  In a couple of hours, when T'Pol reaches for Trip *again,* and Trip whispers for her to be quiet, I will think how unnecessary it is because I won't have been asleep anyway.  

It's amazing, really. Twenty-five years are completely destroyed in three days. 

Damnit, T'Pol, if you didn't want me, why didn't you at least have the decency to tell me, instead of continuing to make me look like a fool?

And Trip, my _*friend,*_ you may have "rejected" her, but why the hell didn't you tell me that she wanted you in the first place? Didn't I deserve at least that much? 

It's taken a lot of love on my part to continue in a marriage as difficult as the one T'Pol and I have had.  There have been times that, frankly, I've wanted to walk right out the door.  The silences combined with the pure agony of watching her career continue to sky rocked while mine seemed to reach a standstill haven't made our union as easy as I had hoped.

But I stayed.  Why? Because I love my wife, and because I made a promise that I would stay with her – 'til death us do part. I stayed, and I tried to be a good husband.  Even with Laura. . . I wanted her so much, I suppose partially because she was the complete opposite of T'Pol.  She was wild when T'Pol was gentle, passionate when T'Pol was calm, and laughed when T'Pol would only arch an eyebrow.  But I never cheated -  not physically.  Because I loved T'Pol, and because I loved Koval.

But I must have been blind, or a fool, or both. Because somewhere along the way, the wife I loved began to want my best friend.  But *_when* ?_

It couldn't have been on the ship, or while we were in the Expanse.  Especially not while we were in the Expanse. Both Trip and T'Pol had their own problems in the Expanse, and besides T'Pol never hesitated to tell me how "disconcerting" she found Trip's behavior in those days.

Yet, for every year that we've been married, they've been civil.  When did it change? Moreover, why didn't I notice? They were always right there, in front of me.  How much of a blind fool could I have been not to have seen it when it happened? Unless it happened when I wasn't around, which would have meant an away mission of some type.

~~

"_How are you feeling, Trip?"_

_"Oh, a little rough around the edges, but other than that, I'm just fine."_

_"Two weeks in a Romulan prison with T'Pol must have nearly driven both of you insane."_

_"Oh, it . . . wasn't so bad."_

_~~_

That was the first conversation Trip and I had upon his and T'Pol's arrival back to the _Enterprise__.  _I never thought anything about it, but . . . 

_~~_

_"Nah, that was different. I never hated T'Pol." _

_"Sometimes I used to wonder." _

_"I never did." _

_"I really wondered on our wedding day. You seemed pretty unhappy for a best man."_

_"I wasn't unhappy for ya I was just . . . worried . . . that ya were doin' the right thing." _

~~

Worried that I wasn't doing the right thing? Gee, could that have been because he knew T'Pol was in love with him? And apparently, that he was in love with her as well?

I wonder what happened in that prison.  Was T'Pol sick, as she is now? Was he there for her, when I couldn't have been? If I had been available, would things have been different? She thought – she *_said* _she cared for me before the capture.  If she hadn't have been captured, would she still have cared for me? 

Then that just about says it all, doesn't it? My entire marriage has been a scam.  Even in those early years, when I was still so happy with T'Pol – they apparently meant nothing.  I wonder how foolish I must have looked to both of them.  Everything I might have tried to do to be a good husband didn't really matter.  There was never anything I could have done, really, since T'Pol wanted someone else. 

Part of me is furious, and part of me is just heartbroken.  I've devoted twenty-five years to that woman, and it's all been for nothing.  Hell, if it hadn't been for Koval, my entire marriage would have been pointless.

I wonder what horrible thing I've done in my life to deserve losing my son and my marriage in the span of three weeks.  If I live to one hundred and twelve, I'll never be able to get the sounds of T'Pol and Trip's moans or the sight of Koval struggling to remain alive out of my head. 

At least Koval, unlike T'Pol, loved me in return, even if we did have our differences. So many times we fought over his choosing the Vulcan way over the human way.  But in the end, he was so, so very human. So frail.  Those blue eyes of his were full of –

Blue eyes.  Trip's eyes are blue.  In fact, no one in my entire family has blue eyes.  

But, no.  It isn't possible. Koval was my son.  *Mine.*  The eyes are a genetic fluke, that's all. 

~~

_"I do not wish to attend the museum with you again this weekend, father."_

_"Koval, it's our tradition, just you and me."_

_"I know, Father, but I wish to accompany Trip and Charlie on their expedition."_

_"No.  You can go upstairs and unpack.  You aren't going."_

_I watched as Koval stomped up the stairs, his temper the only visible signs of his humanity.  Trip stood beside me, not looking at all happy._

_"Admiral-"_

_"He's my son, Trip, and he needs to spend bonding time with me, not you and Charlie all the time."_

_"Well, maybe you don't deserve him."_

_~~_

It was Trip's parting shot that made me give in, and I allowed Koval to go fishing with Trip and Charlie.  It's that same parting shot that is haunting me now.  Did Trip have an alternative reason to think I didn't "deserve" to have Koval as my son? 

I turn and glance over at T'Pol and Trip for the first time since this agony began. T'Pol's arms are draped across Trip's chest and it's all I can do not to reach across and shake them both awake.  I need my questions answered and I can't wait another three days.  

"It's a real selfless thing you're doing, Jon." I hadn't realized Trip was still awake.  I focus my glance on him.  Even in the dark, the brightness of those blue eyes are clear for me to see.  How could I have been such a fool? 

"Selfless?"

"You must really love T'Pol to be willing to let me save her life like this."  

That's what makes me stop.  Because right now, saving T'Pol's life is all that matters.  Regardless of what may or may not have occurred with Trip . . . or Koval. . . I don't want her to die.  If the horrid suspicions I'm having about Koval are right, though, I'm not so sure I'll be able to say the same thing about myself.  

"Trip, I must have you. Again."

As Trip and T'Pol renew their passion, I contemplate the very real possibility that I may face losing my son twice in the span of three weeks. 

~~

To Be Continued. . . 


	12. Confrontation, Part I: T'Pol's POV

Fulfilled

~~~

Chapter 12

_Confrontation, Part I   _    
_T'Pol's POV_

_~~_

Much of what has occurred in the past week is a blur.  Short term memory loss is sometimes a side effect of _pon__ farr.  _While I was not affected during my previous cycle, I suspect the intensity of this one was far greater, thus possibly explaining the discrepancy. Those that cannot remember their loss of control are typically considered fortunate among my people.  Perhaps, under different circumstances, I would agree.  However, given the tension that is so very palatable between Jonathan, Charles, and myself, I find myself longing for a more coherent memory.  

 I do remember the feeling of sense of completion that accompanied my joining with Charles.  I also recall being trapped in the shuttle, along with Charles and Jonathan. The ultimate result is not difficult to discern.  What remains to be revealed is the manner in which I shared my preference for Charles.  Though I suspect that will be discovered soon. 

"Are you fully recovered?" Jonathan asks quietly.  At my nod, he turns to Charles.  "I'd like to speak to _my wife_ alone."  Contrary to what the sentence structure would have implied, it was not a request.  The possessiveness is unpleasant, though I try to withhold judgment, as I am not quite certain of my behavior over the past week.  

Charles gives me the briefest of glances.  I believe it is to discern whether or not I protest.  I realize Jonathan and I must speak and I give Charles a nod for permission to exit.  

For a reason which I do not quite understand, my nod to Charles appears to cause Jonathan a good deal of distress.  His weight shifts and he crosses his arms to express his displeasure.  Irregardless, Charles gives us both a curt nod before leaving us alone.  

As I watch Charles leave, I am reminded of a similar situation twenty-five years ago.  He walked out my door twenty-five years ago as well and did not return.  A sense of overwhelming ache consumes me as I wonder if the comparable situation of the present will result in parallel consequences. Now, however, is not the time to contemplate such thoughts.  I must deal with Jonathan first. 

My husband sits across from me, straddling the chair and fascinated by the functions of his hands crossed in his lap.  

"When was the first time?" 

Perhaps it is Jonathan's current emotional state that have confused him, or perhaps it is I that am confused.  "I do not know what event you are referring to."

Twenty-five years of living with the man seated in front of me has aptly familiarized me with his bodily movements and their significances.  The action of him biting on his lip, accompanied by a deliberately slow tilt of his head frequently signifies a forewarning of sarcasm, bitterness, or perhaps a combination. "Convenient, T'Pol. Real convenient."

"I do not fully recall the events of the past week. If you could –"

"When was the first time you had sex with Trip?"

I was not expecting such a question.  Perhaps I should have. Jonathan has been known to be blunt.  I am considerably concerned about the manner in which I disclosed my want for Charles.  

"For what reason do you believe what happened on the planet was a reoccurring event?"

Jonathan emits a humorless laugh.  "Because you said as much while we were on the planet." 

There is a considerable silence, as I attempt to answer him truthfully without causing him further pain.  It is apparent from his mannerisms that my actions have already caused him a great deal of grief.  For that, I have remorse – though I would not alter my choice in order to alleviate that sorrow. 

"You owe me the truth, T'Pol.  I deserve at least that much from you."

He is correct, though I suspect he will regret having insisted upon the truth.  I hope he is the only one to experience that regret. "I have been affected by _pon__ farr _once before.  Charles was there to alleviate my condition."

"Was it before or after you and I?"

"It was while we were captive in the Romulan prison." 

"That happened about ten months before Koval was born."  

Surely I said nothing in reference to Koval's parentage in the midst of my cycle? Regardless of my lack of passion for Jonathan,  I had hoped he would continue to treasure memories of my son.  If the truth is revealed, I do not see how he will be able to do so. 

"I've been doing some thinking, and the things Koval and Trip had in common seem pretty high. Blue eyes, engineering interest, love of pecan pie, love of catfish . . . .you know, T'Pol, you never discouraged his love of catfish. Tell me, why wouldn't a vegetarian such as yourself want to discourage such a nasty habit?"

"I would not have attempted to force Koval to abandon his human half."

"Was Koval my son?"

"You raised him. He called you Father.  What additional proof do you need for him to be 'your son'?"

"Damnit, T'Pol, tell me the truth. *Just once,*  tell me the truth.  Was Koval my son. . . or was he .  .   .conceived in that prison?"

"_Pon__ farr _is the only time females of my species can conceive." It comes out colder than I intended, but I do not apologize.  This conversation is forcing me to relive a similar one I had with Koval when he discovered the truth of his heritage. Though I may be Vulcan, thoughts of my son still cause me great grief. I suspect they always shall. 

The full emotional impact of what I have revealed becomes obvious to Jonathan at that point.  Tears fill his eyes, and when he must attempt to speak several times before his voice can triumph over the urge to sob.  I am not without sympathy. Jonathan is being forced to deal with the same amount of frustration, pain, loneliness, and hopelessness that have plagued my existence for the past twenty-five years all, and he is being forced to deal with those sensations all at once.  I hold much greater affection for Charles than I do for Jonathan, but I would not willingly cause him the pain he is experiencing.  I would not have consciously caused the pain for any of us, though I have unfortunately been a willing participate in the development of that pain for myself, Charles, Koval, and now for Jonathan.  

He does not speak for several minutes.  The  part of me that holds the affection of friendship – the same affection that compelled me to spend the past quarter of a century with him – contemplates offering some type of comfort.  But I can think of nothing appropriate that I can be certain will not cause him further pain.

Eventually, he speaks, though his voice is barely a whisper when it comes out.  "I-is that why he couldn't meld with me? Does the meld have to be shared with a blood relative?"

"No –"

"Tell me the truth, T'Pol.  If I had been his real father, could I have saved him?"

I do not wish to reveal the truth about my son's sacrifice to Jonathan; however, if I am not completely truthful with Jonathan, he will experience guilt for Koval's death.  I will not allow that.  Blame for my son's death should be entirely mine.  "No, Jonathan.   A meld can be experienced with anyone."

"Then why did he refuse to meld with me?"

It is clear from Jonathan's tone that he will not be persuaded of the truthfulness of my denial until he is given sufficient proof.  Again, I do not wish to reveal the truth to him, as it will cause him additional grief, but I will not force him to live with a guilt he should not.  "He feared bonding with you would have revealed his parentage."

"He KNEW?"  

I do not need to be bonded to Jonathan to feel the pain he is experiencing.  "Yes."

"You. Trip. Koval.  Every single one of you kept me in the dark, and let me believe in a family that wasn't mine.  Who else knew?"

"Maggie is aware of her child's heritage."

I was not expecting the slamming of his Jonathan's hand upon the desk beside him.  "All four of you.  I loved you as a husband, and Koval and Maggie as my children.  Why the hell didn't even one of you see fit to tell me the truth?" 

He rises and begins to pace.  I do not speak, for I realize the necessity in Jonathan's expressing his thoughts.  "I trusted all of you, and you all lied to me.  How could you do that to me?"  

"It was never my intention to cause you pain, nor was it Koval's.  It especially was not Charles' intention."

"Our entire marriage has been a lie. The entire past twenty-five years – an entire *quarter of a century,* T'Pol, you've spent lying to me.  Why the hell did you even marry me in the first place? If you and Trip wanted each other so much, why bother marrying me?"

I know instinctively he will not understand.  I myself realize it was a mistake to marry him, though my reasons were not meant to cause him pain.  "I hold a great deal of affection for you – "

"But not as much as you do for Trip.  You said something on the planet about Trip not abandoning you again.  What did you mean by that?"

I briefly contemplate not telling him.  Though he no doubt intends to talk to Charles, and if I do not reveal the benevolence behind Charles' actions twenty-five years ago, that conversation may be a good deal more painful for them both.  It is better that Jonathan's animosity be directed towards me than towards the man who so clearly values his friendship.  "In the aftermath of our experience in the prison, I went to Charles, and told him of my intention to end our relationship in favor of one with him.  He said that he would not have me, because he would not play an active role in hurting you."

"So he thought lying to me on a continual basis for twenty-five years wouldn't 'hurt' me?" 

"Jonathan – "

"Don't defend him, T'Pol.  Hell, it's bad enough that I had to watch while you. . . just don't defend him.  What he did, and what you did – was just wrong.  The reasons why don't matter." 

There is a pause.  "After Trip rejected you, why did you marry me?"

"Trip was certain that causing leaving would cause you pain.  You had expressed pain in your conversations about the loss of Maureen.  I did not wish to cause you similar pain."

"You didn't think it would be painful for me if the woman I loved married me while she still wanting. . . my best friend?"  He stumbles over the last part of his sentence, and I am concerned with the difficulty that he has in forming the words.  

"I have always considered you a friend, Jonathan.  During our time aboard the _Enterprise__, _I grew to have a good deal of affection and concern for you."

"In other words, I was an excellent 'second best.'"

"If you wish to view it in such terms.  I knew I could never return to Vulcan, and thus, I needed a human husband.  You held great affection for me.  Leaving you would have served no productive purpose." 

"So marrying me was the logical thing to do?"   His voice has changed to the soft quiet that makes it clear that he is angry.  

"Yes."

"You used me, and that's logical?"

"I believed our union would be mutually beneficial for us both.  Among my people, that is a highly desired goal."

"_Your people _have a pretty shitty view of what constitutes a marriage, T'Pol.  And you lived among humans for how long? You should have known better."

I do not respond to his antagonistic view towards my people.  There is another pause, this time shorter, before Jonathan speaks again.  "You know, T'Pol, I've never complained about the fact that you never say 'I love you.' I always assumed that it was because you were Vulcan. I figured, if you were human, you'd say it.  But you wouldn't, would you? At least not to me. But you'd say it to Trip, wouldn't you?"

"I care a great deal for you, Jonathan, however  -"

"You don't love me. You don't have any passion for me.  I love you, T'Pol."

"You do not.  You have not in some time.  Instead, you have been longing for another."

"YOU have the audacity to be upset because I'VE been longing for someone else? I was always faithful to you, T'Pol.  Besides, you've been 'longing' for Trip for twenty-five years.  Hell, maybe even longer."

Perhaps longer indeed. But there is no need to agree. "Then you should understand that the pain induced by your longing for another has been a pain I have felt for twenty-five years.  A pain that began because of two being's desire not to cause you pain."

"Our situation is hardly compatible, T'Pol.  If you – or _Trip – _would have just been truthful from the beginning, none of your longing would have been necessary."

"I realize the flaw in my reasoning now.  However, it is too late to change what I have done. I can only fix the end result." 

His eyes find mine.  "Well, I guess there's really only one way to accomplish that, isn't there?  After all, there's no reason to prolong what should have died long ago."

"You are responding reasonably well."

"What did you expect me to do, T'Pol?  Shout, scream, have a temper tantrum?  I've wanted to do all of those things during the week we spent on the planet. During the week that I had to hear you and Trip experiencing passion that I have always wanted. . . I went through every illogical _human _emotion that you claim to despise – anger, hurt, sadness. . . but I won't burden you with them, because you can't possibly truly care."

"As I have said, I regret causing you pain. That was never my intention." 

Again comes the humorless laugh.  "I'm sure you didn't, T'Pol.  You know, it's too bad you and I will never experience a meld.  I'd love to see inside your mind  - there's something inside of there that's made me come pretty close to losing mine over the past week." 

He turns to go.  Two feet from the door, he turns back to look at me. "If it weren't for Trip. . .would you have been able to love me?" 

"I do not know. I cannot imagine a reality without him in it." 

"Neither could I, until about a week ago."

As he leaves, I contemplate his final sentence.  I believe it to mean that he considers his friendship with Charles over.  I do not want to see the end of their friendship, when Charles placed it above everything else in importance.  I especially do not wish to see it end because of me.  I already hold the blame for my son's death. Must I hold the blame for Jonathan and Charles being miserable as well? 

I cannot help but think of Koval. Koval meant to keep our secret and to prevent causing each of us a great deal of distress.  If Jonathan refuses to forgive Charles, then my son's last sacrifice will have been in vain.

~~

To Be Continued . . . 


	13. Confrontation, Part II: Trip's POV

Fulfilled

Chapter 13

Confrontation, Part II 

_Trip's POV _

A/N:  Just in case you missed the TOS episode from which it originates, "The Great Bird of the Galaxy" belong to Sulu, Gene Roddenberry, and some other TOS writers whose names I don't know. And of course the Great Bird known as Paramount.  

*************

Sometimes, in my very worst nightmares, I would see this happen.  Of course, in my nightmares, things were a bit different.  Most importantly, the Admiral hadn't been forced to watch – and hear – T'Pol and I having sex for a week.  There are many things in life I don't understand.  The fact that the _Antares_showed up exactly one week after T'Pol began to experience full blown _pon__ farr _is definitely at the top of the list.  Maybe the cosmic entities whose existence I had dismissed after Lizzy's death finally decided to make their presence known.  Maybe they began to feel guilty for all the shit they've piled my way for the past twenty-five years and decided that T'Pol and I needed the right to hold each other again.

But, oh, The Great Bird of the Galaxy has awful timing.  If it had happened after we'd been rescued, T'Pol and I could have been more discreet.  She may have still wanted me – and I damn well would have still helped – but it wouldn't have had to be right in the Admiral's face.  

Maybe, if the _Antares_had answered the distress signal a week earlier, I wouldn't be standing here, in the Admiral's quarters, praying for him to say something - *_anything* - _to end the silence between us.

In my nightmares, it was never this quiet.  

"Jon . . ."  Whatever else I was going to say got stuck about mid way as the Admiral finally decides to speak.  

"You *lied* to me, Trip.  For twenty-five years.  How could you?"

"I never meant –"  

"Oh, spare me, Trip.  T'Pol has already pleaded your case for you.  Let me guess – you never meant to hurt me, right?"

T'Pol, pleading? Somehow, I'm glad I wasn't forced to hear that too.  I don't think I could have handled this conversation on top of that one. "No, not for a moment."

"Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that sounds?" 

Now? Yes, I have every idea.  But we aren't talking about now – are we? "I know how it must sound,  but every mistake I made, I made with the intention of not hurting you."

Please talk.  I can't take this silence.  

"Your betrayal hurts a thousand times more than hers ever will, Trip.  Do you know why? Because you were my friend, and I trusted you.  I trusted you above and beyond *anyone* else.  Yet T'Pol initially wanted to be honest with me, and you convinced her not to.  What the hell were you thinking?"

I was trying to spare you the pain of watching the woman you love be with your best someone else. "I was thinking that T'Pol being with you was about the only thing keeping me from her.  I was thinking that the moment she was free from you, there was nothing in hell that would keep me from her.  And mostly, I was thinking that if you knew that, it would kill you."

"You couldn't keep your hands off each other because you had mind blowing sex in the Romulan prison?"

"Is that all you think my feelings for T'Pol were based on?"

"What else could it be based on? You two hated each other prior to that."

"Hated? . . . I never hated T'Pol."

"You sure fooled me, though that's something you and T'Pol seem to excel at."

"Admiral –"

"Since I'm such a bad judge of character, Trip, why don't you just tell me. When did you start to have feelings for T'Pol?"

"I don't know really. I – "

"You don't know? Your feelings for T'Pol have just ruined my life.  I damn well expect a better answer than that."

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? But I need to say something, because he's about to turn around.  I can't let him turn around, not again.  Seeing the Admiral's back brings memories of another mistake of mine, made only two years prior to abandoning T'Pol.  

"Well, I can't give you one.  It's not for lack of trying. I've been attemptin' to figure that one out for years. Hell, I've spent at least an hour a day every day for the past five years on Kowl tryin' to figure it out.  All I  know is that from the moment I first laid eyes on her, I thought she was the most magnificent, most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." 

"That's why you fought with her at every opportunity?" 

"I fought with her because she's as stubborn, opinionated, and confident as I am. I'll be honest – there were days she nearly drove me crazy. But I looked across the Captain's table one day and realized that she was a lovely, beautiful gift I wanted to spend the rest of my life unwrapping.  I don't know when or how or even why my feelings deepened, but they did."

"I remember the exact day and time my feelings for T'Pol changed.  It was while we were on a mission to find –Menos." He looks at me questioningly.  "Do she ever tell you about Menos?" 

It takes all that I have to remind myself that the Admiral has a good reason to be upset with me.  Even then, I don't really appreciate the challenging tone he's decided to take. "I'm aware of who Menos was." 

"Before we left to capture Menos, she told me she trusted me.  Then, for the first time, it occurred to me that she wasn't cold and unfeeling, like other Vulcans. It doesn't seem right, really, that you don't even know why you fell in love with her, and I do -  yet, she chose you over me."

"And I chose you over her."  Please know how much of a sacrifice that was. If you love T'Pol a fraction as much as you claim to, you have to be able to see it.

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He sounds more frustrated than angry, now.  That's good, right? If he can stop being angry long enough, maybe I can get him to see that I never  meant to cause him any harm.  

"It means that every bone in my body wanted to accept T'Pol's offer, but I didn't, because your friendship was too special to me."  

"How the hell could you believe that telling me the truth wouldn't have hurt less than the truth?"

"Because I'd been there! I'd *_felt*  how_ painful it is to have your best friend fall in love with the same woman that you do.  God knows, I had to watch you and T'Pol – "

"Oh, come on, Trip.  The way you make it sound, T'Pol was just some new discovery to 'unwrap.'  You can't possibly call that 'love.'" 

"Are you tryin' to tell me *what* I felt for T'Pol?"  I can't help the anger that seeps into my voice.  I know he's hurt, and he has plenty of reason to be angry at me, but he just crossed a boundary he has no right to cross.

"You're tryin' to compare morbid fascination with genuine caring, Trip."

And what the hell would you know about caring? Is 'love' what you call the way you've treated your marriage and your wife for the past twenty-five years? "Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I genuinely love T'Pol?"

"Because for the entire year that we spent in the Expanse together, all I ever heard from T'Pol was caution about the downward spiral she was certain you were in.  In fact, I must have heard it at least twice a –"  he stops abruptly.  Not entirely certain why, I wait for him to resume.  

"She was worried about you.  I thought – I thought she was just showing concern about the productivity of the ship. Even in those early days of dating. . . she wanted you."

"I heard about it, too," I assure  him.  "T'Pol was always there, telling me how close I was to spiraling out of control." I wince as I remember how correct she was. She even tried some type of neurotherapy.  It didn't work . . . but she was still the first person I really broke down and talked to about Lizzy's death."

"From the very start, she wanted you.  Why didn't she just pursue you instead of me to begin with? Why the charade?" 

"Vulcans spend their whole lives suppressing their emotions.  Giving in to what she might have wanted . . . well, it would have acknowledged her own emotions and saddled her with my own . . . negative ones."

"Ah, yes.  We're back to picking me was the 'logical choice.'" 

"Look, Jon. . . both T'Pol and I made a mistake.  Truthfully, I'm more to blame than T'Pol, because it was my idea not to tell you in the first place. But I only did it to protect you – however misplaced my actions might've been, my intentions weren't."

"You know what the ironic thing is? If you had just told me the truth, it would have hurt, but I would've forgiven both of you.  But you lied to me, Trip.  For twenty-five years, you lied to me. How am I supposed to forget that my best friend, the person I trusted more than anyone else, deliberately orchestrated and carried out a lie?"

Damnit, I'm sorry, T'Pol's sorry.  Why can't you just accept that? "Don't you realize how much you mean to me? How much I *_need*  you_ to realize that?"

"What *_you_* need?" The  calm confusion that he's had for the past several minutes disappears instantly as he crosses the distance between us.  He stands only inches from my face, and I haven't heard so much venom in someone's voice since the end of the Romulan War.  "How can you be so selfish? What about what I needed, or your wife needed? Hell, what about what Koval needed? How could you *know* that another man was raising your son?"

"Leave Koval out of this."

"I'd love to, Trip. There's just one little problem.  The 'mistake' you and T'Pol made is the reason Koval is *_dead_.*"

If he had punched me in the gut, it wouldn't have hurt quite as much.  I try to force myself to talk, but pain, guilt, and a sense of betrayal get in the way, and the words won't come. 

"I'm sorry, Trip.  I  didn't mean that."  

What hurts the most is that I know he probably did. 

He takes a step backward and sighs. "I know how much loosing him must have hurt – and I know how much you cared for him.  It's just. . .well, you only lost him once.  It feels like I've lost him twice."

So have I.  

". . . And the fact that he and I didn't have the best relationship only makes it hurt more.  I've felt like a failure as a father for years. . . "

"He loved you."

"He loved you, too.  Hell, he even told us so just before he . . . At any rate, he must have understood why you did what you did."

"If Koval can forgive me, why can't you?"

"I'm sorry, Trip.  I know what you must have thought you were giving up, and I'm sure your heart was in the right place.  But it doesn't change the fact that I don't trust you anymore.  What type of friendship exists without trust?"

"That's it? You're just going to throw away three decades worth of friendship because of one stupid mistake I made?"

"It wasn't just any mistake, Trip."

"No, it wasn't. It was one that I made in an effort to spare you the same pain that you inadvertedly caused me.  It was one that I'd give anything to take back, but I can't."

"You're right, you can't.  You can't take away all the hurt that your 'mistake' caused to me, to Natalie, to T'Pol. . . and to Koval."

He turns away from me then, so that he is facing the window.  The action hurts more than it has any right to.  It instantly transports me back twenty-seven years to the aftermath of the incident with the co-genitor.  When he turned away from me then, I wasn't sure our friendship would survive intact.  Hell, maybe in a lot of ways it didn't. I can't miss the realization that both the co-genitor situation and this are my fault. Both times I was only trying to do what was right.   I guess that's what they mean by the road to hell being paved by good intentions. 

Forcing  myself out into the hallway, I find myself certain that if this isn't hell, it's a pretty fair imitation.  I've lost someone I've called a dear friend for the past thirty-seven years.  I've lost Koval.  For all intents and purposes, I've lost Charlie, too.  I've left him five messages since we were rescued and he hasn't returned a single one of them.  I guess he wasn't too concerned with whether or  not we were rescued.

And why have I lost all of them? Because twenty-five years ago, I made one stupid mistake in order to preserve the Admiral's feelings. Well, that turned out well, didn't it? What I sacrificed a lifetime of my own happiness in order to prevent happened anyway. It's hard to believe that three weeks ago, the Admiral and I "renewed" our friendship.  

Hell, we never did watch that stupid water polo match. 

It's even harder to imagine that three weeks ago,  Koval, Charlie, Maggie, T'Pol, the Admiral, and I sat at the same table.  

T'Pol.  I'm making my way slowly to her quest quarters. As a Federation Ambassador, she was rewarded with more upscale quarters than the Admiral or I was. 

As much as I want to see her again, I'm terrified.  Before the whole mess with crashing on the planet happened, she pretty much told me she couldn't deal with seeing me every day because I reminded her too much of the grief she had.  Sure, she chose me on the planet, but that might very well have been the _pon__ farr _talking.  I hope it wasn't, but it's a very real possibility.  She may very well tell me she's sorry, but can't handle being around me anymore.  

Irony's great, isn't it?  Twenty-five years ago, I turned her away for reasons I felt were every bit as valid. If she does the same. . . it'll kill me. The only good that's come out of the past three weeks has been my ability to hold T'Pol again.  I can only hope that our reunion wasn't a one time occurrence.   But if she does reject me, it would certainly bring things full circle, in the cruelest possible way.  And, hell, maybe I deserve it.

Well, I'm here.  Guess there's really nothing else left to do but announce my presence.  

************

To Be Continued. . . 

Happy "Damage" watching! 

A/N, II:  Some people have expressed the idea that Archer should be upset at T'Pol for the actual actions in the shuttlepod.   While I do mostly hate Archer, I really don't think even he is stupid or evil enough to fault Trip or T'Pol for T'Pol being IN PON FARR.  And calling T'Pol's actions in the shuttle "mean," is like blaming a sick person for coughing. 


	14. Full Circle: Trip and T'Pol's POVs

Fulfilled 

Spoilers:  Though this story takes place in an alternate universe (yeah!), some things remain the same.  While "Harbinger" did not take place, T'Pol's story arc up through and including "Azati Prime" and "Damage" did.  This chapter has references to events depicted in both "Impulse" and "Damage." 

**************************

Chapter 14

Full Circle Trip and T'Pol's POV (brackets denote change in POV) 

**************************

I have had the opportunity to meditate for an hour while Jonathan and Charles conversed.  Though I appreciated the opportunity, I will admit that I spent a good deal of the thirty minutes that followed my meditation but preceded his arrival in anticipation of how our inevitable discussion will end. The sense of anticipation is not an unfamiliar one.  I experienced the exact same sensation twenty-five years ago.  The past ninety minutes have been spent in quiet contemplation of the very real possibility that Charles' present conversation with Jonathan may result in my beloved choosing the same course of action that he did a quarter of a century ago.

His current stance neither confirms nor denies my suspicions.  The same hands that only yesterday brought relief to my suffering are under constant movement.  They envelop one another, pause, travel to his neck, rejoin, and finally attempt to find solace in his follicles.  Finding none, his hands finally come to a rest in the same position as they began: restlessly rubbing against one another in an attempt to find relief where none can be found. Though highly irrational, I sympathize with their journey.  Perhaps the brief spite of emotionalism can be attributed to the last remnants of _pon__ farr. _Conceivably, however, the sentimentalism should more truthfully be attributed to the anticipation I have concerning the outcome of this conversation.  Either way, it is not a sensation I appreciate.   

"Charles.  I gather from your posture that you conversation with Jonathan did not proceed as well as you might have hoped."

He sighs, and sits down in the chair at the same desk that was occupied by Jonathan ninety minutes ago.  Though I am not superstitious, I do take the opportunity to hope the conversation I am about to have will not meet have the same dire tone as the one with Jonathan did. 

"Nah, T'Pol, it as well as could be expected. Why wouldn't it? Hell, I only had to stand in front of my best friend, relive the worst mistake I ever made, and have the death of my son thrown back in my face –" his voice catches at that moment, though he struggles to remain in control. It is a struggle I know well. "I kept tryin' to tell him, T'Pol, what I meant to do.  But he couldn't see . . ."

Again, he begins the struggle for control.  The urge to comfort him is so unusually strong that I move to stand beside him.  Which I reach his side, I realize that I am still uncertain of his current feelings towards me.  Hesitantly, my hands remain at my side though they wish to move to comfort Charles.  I find myself envious for the freedom of movement that Charles' hands possess.  

"It's funny.  The entire time you and I were trapped on the planet, I rehearsed exactly what I was going to say to him.  But the moment I stepped into his quarters, it all went out the nearest airlock. "

"You were composing a script of conversation while we mated?" It is an admittedly disturbing thought.   However selfish it may  have been, I do not appreciate thinking that Charles was thinking of Jonathan while touching me. 

"No, T'Pol."  His mouth contorts into a half of a smile. The laughter he emits is not quite the humorless laugh Jonathan used earlier, though it is far from the carefree laughter he used to possess.  I used to belief laughter to be tangible evidence of human's lack of logic. Now I can only wonder when Charles' laughter will return with the same unforced and unburdened ease that it held previously. 

"My . . .compositions took place during the times when the illness forced you to sleep."

"You should have rested then as well."

"It's hard to sleep with so much on my mind."

"Were you that occupied with what Jonathan's response might be that you couldn't sleep?" 

"Well, his friendship has been an essential part of my life for the past three decades.  I wasn't exactly lookin' forward to having it taken away because of a ill-timed. . . " His tone is both angry and frustrated. 

*_Ill-timed.*_

I am struck by the irony of the situation.  I am quite possibly the only Vulcan who has ever been appreciative of my cycles, specifically because they were the catalysts which brought Charles' touch to me.  

Yet, he laments them and blames them for costing him his friendship with Jonathan.  *_Ill-timed.*  _  

I have no reason to be surprised.  Our relationship has merely come full circle.  Twenty-five years ago, Charles chose Jonathan's friendship over a relationship with me.  Though recent comments by Charles led me to believe that he regretted that decision, it is clear that my assumptions were incorrect.  Again, he places that friendship above me in importance.  It is perhaps even more disturbing this time, as the friendship that matters so much more than I do no longer exists.

I turn from Charles and seek in the stars comfort that I do not receive from him.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

I was still trying to figure out what either Jon or I could have said differently when T'Pol walked away from me.  Staring at her retreating form, a feeling of dread comes over me. Was I so wrapped up in thinking about the Admiral that I missed a signal from her? God, I hope not.  From the way  her back's facing me, I'd guess that it was a sign that my earlier suspicions were true.  Now that the _pon__ farr _is purged, T'Pol is remembering just how painful being around me is.  

Trying not to jump to conclusions, I search my head in vain for some way to broach the subject of us.  Several come to mind, all of which sound pathetically desperate.  

But *_aren't *  I_ desperate? Yes, and why the hell shouldn't I be? In a time span of three weeks, I have lost almost everyone dear to me – and now, I'm facing losing T'Pol for a second time in my life.  Losing her the first time nearly killed me.  If this time, I actually do. . . 

Focus, Trip.  It's not too late. She's still here.  Oh, please, please don't let it be too late.  "So. . . what are your plans?"  I manage to stumble out.  That wasn't too desperate, I suppose. 

"I have a prosperous career as a Federation Ambassador.  Current events have no adverse bearing to that position."  

Her tone's clipped, short, and as unattached as it was the first day we set eyes on one another.   To call it a bad sign is an understatement at the very least.

"What are your . . . plans, Commissioner?" 

Commissioner.  T'Pol and I just spent a week in the most intimate positions two people can spend . . . and she's back to calling me "Commissioner."  So cold, so impersonal.  

My plans? My * plans * wereto spend the rest of my life making up for the mistake I  made twenty-five years ago - *with* T'Pol.  My * plans * were to move somewhere that would allow both of us to be closer to our grandson – the only remainder of Koval we have left.  My * plans * would have given me the family I'd always wanted but had always been denied.

Somehow, none of that will come out.  T'Pol's demeanor is so frosty that it completely kills everything I want to say.   

Damnit, I had _this _conversation scripted too.  Why can't just one of the life-altering conversations I have to have today go the way I want it to?

"I. . . I thought . . . I mean, well, you and I could . . .What I am tryin' to say is. . .there's nothin' stoppin' us from being together anymore."  Or anyone.  

T'Pol turns back to face  me.  I want to be thankful for that. . .but the expression on her face makes me wonder if I *should* be thankful.  "While I thank you for your assistance, now that the fever has been purged, it is no longer required.  You are no longer obligated to remain with me."

Well, that just about says it, doesn't it? My mistake has caused so much pain that it killed Koval, and drove away the three other people I care about most.  There's really nothing else to say.  I understand why T'Pol doesn't want me and I have no right to expect anything else – no matter how much I may want it.

Though my legs are numb, and my heart hurts so much I can barely breathe, I force myself to turn towards the door.  Seeing those doors makes me recall two very similar doors from twenty-five years ago – two very similar doors that I walked out of on my own accord, against T'Pol's pleas to the contrary and inevitably breaking both our hearts. And both my sons' hearts. 

~

_"Charles. . . do not leave. . . please."_

_"I'm sorry, T'Pol.  But I can't do this to the Cap'n."_

_~~_

To hell with worrying about `sounding desperate.  I _AM _desperate. Turning back around, I see T'Pol has turned back to face the stars passing by.  "T'Pol!"   It comes out more as a desperate shout than I intended, but I won't worry about that right now.   "Is it really that hard for you to control your grief when I'm around?"

The time it takes for T'Pol to turn around is absolutely agonizing. Even when she finally does, she takes her own sweet time in responding.  "What do you mean?"

"I know how painful Koval's death must be to you.  Hell, it's equally as painful to me –"

"Of course it is."

"And I'll admit that when I see you, I'm goin' to be reminded of him – and, to be honest, I'll probably think of Jon from time to time to.  But there's no way the pain I would feel from losing either of them. . . or from losing Charlie. . .keep me from you."

They'd probably deny it, but whenever a Vulcan is confused, their brows wrinkle into a frown just as much as ours do.  And T'Pol is definitely frowning. I suppose that frown is an indication that I've disturbed her in some way.  Gee, Trip, you don't think it could have been that emotional outburst, do you? She *is* a Vulcan, for Christ's sake.  

"I do not wish to be parted from you, Charles." 

"But I thought – "  It's right about then that I realize how familiar T'Pol's expression is. I saw the very same one twenty-five years ago.  

I completely misinterpreted what she was saying.  I almost walked out the door over a miscommunication.  I'm not sure whether I should feel stupid or relieved, so I allow myself to feel both.  In the midst of my revelation, I realize there's quite a large gap between T'Pol and myself.  

I step forward to close that gap.  "I don't want to be parted from you either, T'Pol."

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

He is close enough now to touch.  Though the urge to do so is strong, I shall resist that urge until my uncertainty is alleviated.   "Did you not believe the _pon__ farr _to be '_ill-timed?'"_  

A look of comprehension dawns on his face.  "Did you not say my 'assistance' was no longer 'required'?"  

"It is not. However, I did not claim it was unwanted."

"And the _pon__ farr _was ill-timed. But that doesn't mean I'm not . . . thankful it happened. I just wish it could have happened when we could have been alone."

"As do I."  The statement is sincere.  Though he does not believe so, I did have affection for Jonathan, though I did not cherish him. I would have liked the revelation of our relationship to have been less blunt.  

Again Charles steps forward, my resolve not to touch him further dissipates. His fingers reach up to caress my cheek,  and I reflect that the simple action has had to wait for twenty-five years. Abruptly, however, he ceases his stroking and tilts my chin at an appropriate angle for looking into my eyes. "T'Pol.  Don't get me wrong.  I want this – you – more than anything.  Leaving this ship without you is about the most painful thing I can think of.  But if you don't want me, tell me now and I'll go."

My hands reach for his face and return the action that his hands engaged in only minutes earlier.  I allow myself to indulge in the smoothness of his face that stands in stark contrast to the rough texture that it possessed when we were first rescued.   "Why are you convinced that I do not want you?"

He sighs in a fashion which signals that he is in emotional distress. "Because before we left for Vulcan, you told me that being around me was trying your ability to suppress your emotions."

"That much is true."

I also figured that was what caused you to pull away from me all those years ago in the Expanse.  You know, not wanting to be exposed to so much negative emotions, when you were tryin' so hard to suppress them."

I take a moment to reflect that the man in front of me has spent a quarter of a century separated from me, yet still manages to understand me better than the one that lived with me for the same amount of time.  Still, even Charles does not fully comprehend the truth behind the reasons why I forestalled my affections all those years ago.  That truth is one I have told no one, though I will tell Charles now, as it directly affects him.

"Do you recall when _Enterprise_came upon the Vulcan ship _Seleya__?" _

"Yes."

"How much did Jonathan tell you about what occurred on the ship?"

At the mention of his old friend's name, he visibly winces.  "Not much.   But Malcolm kind of mentioned that you . . . lost control while you were aboard."

"That is an appropriate choice of words.  I very much 'lost control' aboard _Seleya__."  _

"Because of the Trellium D, right?  That's why we couldn't use it? The Captain told me that much."

"Yes.  What you do not know is that shortly thereafter I became. . . addicted to the substance.  I found myself sneaking into the cargo bay in which it was kept and injecting small  portions into my bloodstream."  Even years later, I sense shame for my actions. 

"But I don't understand.  If it made you sick, why would you continue to . . . inject it?"

"Because I enjoyed the emotions it provoked within me.  I also enjoyed the emotions that you provoked within me.  When I stopped taking the Trellium, I vowed to return to a strict adherence to the path of Surak.  Being near you, particularly in your more hostile state . . . made me apprehensive.  I was concerned that being near you would have similarly negative effects.  That is why I pulled away from you, Charles."

"And now?" The question is as intense as though I had not reveled the most abhorrent secret I possess.  I find myself most relieved that he is not disgusted by my addiction.

"I do not intend to make the same mistake twice, Charles."

I am rewarded by his smile.  

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

When I kiss her, it occurs to me that this is what happiness tastes like.  

As the kiss gives way to other touches, T'Pol and I enjoy one another in a much less frantic manner than we did last week.  Her touches are still firm, but gentle, and occasionally lingering over a bruise or scratch she inflicted last week.  I don't mind the bruises, and I suspect T'Pol may appreciate them too.  They are, after all, tangible evidence that I belong to her.  And I finally do, just as much as she finally belongs to me.  It's about damn time.

"I love you, T'Pol," I murmur softly against her ear.

"I cherish you, Charles. . . Trip." 

*That* is what happiness sounds like.

~~~

_To Be Continued. . . . _

_Only one more chapter and an epilogue to go._


	15. Challenge Your Preconceptions: Charlie's...

Fulfilled

Chapter 15

_Challenge Your Preconceptions . . . _

Charlie's POV 

BEWARE:  Lots of scene changes. 

************************************

***_Six Months Later. . .*_ **

************************************

"He's beautiful, Maggie," I tell the woman on the viewscreen in front of me, meaning every word of it. 

The proud mother glances down at the blond haired bundle in her arms and then looks back up at me with a smile. "Of course he is. He takes after his father." At the mention of my lost friend. . . and brother, the same pain that I felt seven months ago returns full force.  

I momentarily think of correcting her. After all,   the blond curls that frame Tegar Reed's face stand in complete contrast to the coal black hair that Koval used to have.  Who'd have thought hair color was so important, anyway? But it apparently is. Because regardless of Tegar's bright blue eyes and pointed ears, it's almost impossible to distinguish him as Koval's son with those curls outlining his face.   Unless of course, I take into consideration who his grandfather is. 

But I won't do that.  This is the first time I've seen Koval's son, and I'll be damned if I'm going to have memories of . . . _that man's _mistake interfere in what should be a happy moment. Tegar is still my nephew, regardless of why he has those blond curls, isn't he?  Besides, Maggie's mother has blond hair.  See? It's just those damn recessive genes coming into play.  Who's to say where they come from?  And those are *Koval's* blue eyes. *Not _HIS_.*  

Speaking of Maggie's parents, when the kid laughs, I swear that smile is pure Malcolm Reed.  Laughing. I wonder what Koval would think of his son laughing.  

Damnit, it's unfair that Koval isn't here to see Tegar laughing.  It isn't fair that I can't see Koval's reaction.  It isn't fair that Tegar, Maggie, and I have been denied that right because my father tried to give Archer a better life than he truly deserved.

Well, there's always the old adage about life not being fair.  Guess it applies to death too. 

"He laughs so much," Maggie remarks softly.  

"Well, that's good.  It means he's a happy baby, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and I'm glad.  I wouldn't want him to have been . . . affected by the loss of Koval. At least, not yet."

Only because I love Maggie like a sister do I keep from telling her that a child can never get over the loss of his father.  Or a brother, for that matter. Why am I the only one in our entire family that can see that?  

"But," she continues, "As much as he laughs, it makes me wonder how hard it's going to be to teach him Vulcan techniques when it comes time to. He may or may not chose to follow the path of Surak, but I want him to know both sides of his heritage regardless."  She takes a break for a moment to move Tegar to her other arm.  "I guess it's a good thing I'll have T'Pol so nearby to help out with that."

"As ridiculous as it is for the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth to be stationed anywhere but on Earth," I say, a little vehemently.  From the look that Maggie's giving me, perhaps just a little too vehemently.   Even the baby quits laughing.  I wonder if that's because of the Vulcan telepathy at work.  

"Haven't you listened to any of the messages they've sent you?" 

"If by 'they' you mean Trip and T'Pol, the answer is no."

"Charlie – "

"They had twenty-five years to say plenty to both Koval and me.  Since they didn't bother to say one damn word about the one thing they should have, I'm not really interested in anything they might have to say now."

"So you're saying that nothing else they ever said was of any importance."

"No, I'm not sayin' that-"

"That certainly sounds what you're saying."  Maggie shifts the bundle in her arms again, then sighs.  "T'Pol isn't the Ambassador to Earth anymore."

"Oh?"

"She's taken a post as head of the Federation Diplomatic Corps.  The headquarters for which are on Vulcan, as I'm sure you well realize.  Your father is teaching Introductory Warp Theory at the Vulcan Science Academy, as amazing as it sounds for a human to teach Vulcans about warp drive."

********************************

_ "Come on, Dad.  I want to get started fishing before the sun comes up."_

_"Just a second, Charlie.__ I'm explain' something to Koval."_

_I was only ten years old, and didn't really understand most of what my father was saying to Koval.  I certainly didn't understand what a warp coil or anti-matter mix was.  All I knew was that I wanted to go fishing, and Koval's conversation with my father was preventing it._

_"I want to go NOW, Dad."_

_"In a minute, Charlie."___

_"NOW, Dad.__   You're MY father, not HIS."_

********************************

Damn memories.  How could I ever have been so selfish? _I'm sorry, Koval_. So very, very sorry.

"Charlie?"  Maggie's concerned voice startles me out of my guilt.

"I'm sorry, Maggie. What were you saying?"

"I was asking you how you managed to miss the news reports on T'Pol's re-appointment."

"Well, you may find it difficult to believe, but I've been avoiding any news that has been associated with T'Pol, Archer, or Trip."  Not that it's been easy, of course. The three of them had a monopoly on the news from the moment Archer filed for divorce.  Headlines such as "Who Says Vulcans Marry For Life?" and "Historic Vulcan-Human Marriage Ends" have been so frequent that it's nauseating.  Of course, those were the kinder headlines.  "Fickle Vulcan Trades in Hubby of Twenty-Five Years After Son's Death For a New Model," is an example of the less kind headlines, and one that truly pissed me off.  Not out of any regard for Trip or T'Pol, of course. They deserve all the pain that comes their way, as far as I'm concerned.  And because he's a selfish ass, so does Archer. But I know how those headlines would hurt Koval.  That would be why I punched the reporter from the Orion Syndicate Weekly. True, it earned me a week in the brig, but he deserved it, and it felt damn good to slug someone.  It also had the added benefit of making the message to my crewmates that the topic of Trip and T'Pol was strictly off topic. 

"That's the second time you've called him that.  Since when is he 'Trip' to you?" 

"Since I found out that he doesn't deserve to be called 'Dad.'" 

Maggie frowns.  "You haven't listened to the message from Koval yet, have you?"

"No."  

"Damnit, Charlie. I gave the message to you before I left _Prometheus _because Koval stressed to me how important it was that you have it if you ever found out the truth about Trip and T'Pol.  He made me promise you'd receive it."

"Maggie – "

"You listen to me, Charlie Tucker. You've been one hell of a egocentric bastard for the past nine months. I understand that you're grieving. But you had damn well better not make my promise to my bondmate go unfulfilled."

The connection ends then.  Left alone in the quiet of my quarters, my gaze falls upon the PADD sitting securely on the bookshelf above my desk that contains Koval's message.  It's a message that I've had for six months, and can't bring myself to open.  

Who can blame me? Opening that message will bring Koval back to life – but only briefly. The minute I turn the message off  he'll be dead again, and I'll have to watch him go, without any way to stop it. Such a familiar pain, and I'm not in any hurry to relive it.

But if it was that important to him. . . Do I have a choice? 

With a sigh of dread, I rise and reach for the PADD.  To my utter surprise, the message requires both a thumb print and a voice confirmation in order to be activated.  Given the sensitive information found in the message, I guess it makes sense.

When Koval's face lights up the PADD in front of me, I nearly drop the damn thing.  That wonderful Vulcan face staring back up at me brings immediate tears to my eyes.  I struggle to keep them from falling, but the minute Koval's calm melodic voice begins to speak, I say the hell with it. Let them fall. 

**"Hello, Charlie.  If this message has found you, I assume two things: one, you have somehow discovered the truth of my heritage and two, I am dead."  **

How can you be so calm about it? I know you're a Vulcan, but God, you make the thing that has nearly broken my heart in two sound like ordering tomato soup from the replicator. 

**"_As I record this message, it is my fondest hope that both of those events do not come to pass simultaneously.  For, if you are ever to discover the truth, I would prefer to be there to offer my  . . . compassion in person." _**

Sweet merciful Great Bird of the Fucking Galaxy, I wish you were here too, Koval.  Hell, I wouldn't care if you were offering "compassion" or merely telling me I was a – what was it Maggie said? Oh, yes, an egocentric bastard. I wonder what the Vulcan word for "bastard" is? 

Now I'll never have the chance to ask.

**_"While there is no logic to be found in regretting that which cannot be changed, I have prepared this message as an attempt to reach you in the event that I cannot.  I know you well, sa-kai –"_**

********************************

 "It's good to see you again, sa-kai."

********************************

**_" –_****_ and I also know that anger is a traditional Tucker response to grief.  Your father has aptly demonstrated it, as  he has related to us before.  You yourself have demonstrated it in the past, sa-kai.  You do remember our experience with Lucky, do you not?"_**

Geez, I was only nine when Lucky died! Koval would have been six.  That amazing Vulcan mind at work, I suppose.  But I'd hardly compare the loss of a pet frog to the loss of my brother.

A brother I was never allowed to know as my brother.

**"_I myself experienced a passing moment of that unpleasant emotion when I discovered the truth that had been kept for me for eighteen years.  Fortunately, my Vulcan heritage saved me from succumbing to the destructive sentiment completely. You, sa-kai, do not have that advantage.  My only hope is that you will listen to this message completely, and allow yourself to grieve properly and fully.  Both Mother and our father have suffered enormously because of the way Trip permitted his grief to manifest itself in the form of anger.  That one mistake cost them repeatedly."  _**

How can he speak so kindly of the two people that completely ruined both of our lives? Of the two who's mistakes forced us to live as friends when we could have lived as brothers? 

Besides, what is he talking about? When did that man's anger have any effect on us? Sure, I've heard about his "angry phase," but that was over and done with by the time Koval and I arrived. 

**"Years ago, when my parents were feeling the initial attraction to one another, their affections were interrupted by the Xindi attack on Earth.  As our father succumbed more deeply to the dark emotions he was experiencing, Mother became. . . frightened.  She withdrew her physical presence from him and turned instead to Archer, whom she viewed as her second closest friend."**

Hard to believe that you could call someone who disrespects your entire people a friend. 

**"As you well know, our father's anger soon dissipated.  What you may not know is that the affection my mother and he shared did not."**

Oh, Koval, I know that.  Suddenly, all I can think of is Dad and me sitting on that couch the day Mom filed for divorce.  I can hear and see his confession of love for T'Pol so loud and clear – 

********************************

_"You don't have to be sorry, Dad." _

_"Yeah, well, maybe I should be anyway. I hurt you're momma, and I never meant to. I hurt ya and I never meant to. I hurt T'Pol and I never meant to. If the Admiral ever knew, it'd kill 'em, I think. And I never meant to." _

_ "Was it before ya knew about me?" _

_"Yeah, it was long before I knew about ya, Charlie. Before the Admiral and T'Pol were married."_

_"If it was before the Admiral married T'Pol and before you knew about me, then why . . . ?" _

_Dad sniffled and wiped his hand on his sleeve. "The Admiral was already in love with her, Charlie. I was tryin' not to break his heart." _

_"But. . .Is what Mom says about T'Pol returnin' it true?"_

_"Hell. . . she knew before I did." I saw how much that concession cost him and I felt like I should stop this questioning. But I couldn't. _

_"I don't understand. If she was in love with you, and you were in love with her, why on Earth didn't ya end up together?" _

_"I thought I was doin' the right thing, Charlie. I thought it was honorable."_

********************************

When I remember how pained Dad was that day, I can't help but feel the tiniest twinge of guilt. . . 

But, no, I can't forgive him, Koval.  He abandoned you. 

********************************

 "No, kiddo, it's me that's sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done, everything I didn't do, and I'm sorry for havin' to go."

********************************

My throat tightens.  But damnit, an apology can't make up for the twenty-five years that Koval had to live without a father.  

**_"But they continued to deny their affection for one another.  Admittedly, our father's first concerns were with Admiral Archer."_**

I nearly stop the message at that point.  How could that selfish, awful man be more important to Dad than his own son? Or the woman he loved, for that matter?

**_I suspect you will retain your traditional hatred towards the Admiral and claim he was not worthy of such devotion."_**

Damn straight he wasn't.

**"_However, if you are intent upon continuing your distrust and anger towards my parents, you must realize that I am the reason I they continued to be apart and refused to ever speak of the truth."_**

What the hell? That doesn't make any sense.  

**_While I do not regret having chosen Vulcan society over human, I will admit that there are flaws within the Vulcan social structure.  Namely, the social customs regarding lineages are based purely on notions of honor and propriety, and demonstrate little logical regard.  Had our father laid claim to me, I would have been an outcast of the world I cherish so deeply – a fact which he realized through his companionship with Kov, the one I am named after. _**

**_hen_****_ I first discovered the truth of my heritage, I asked my father if there was __ any circumstance for which a human would willingly give away someone very precious to them, particularly someone they love.  _**

**_is_****_ reply is one I have memorized to this day.  He said,  'Yeah, Koval, there are two reasons I can think of. They might do it if they think holdin' on to 'em might hurt them or someone else they love. They might do that if they think they're doin' the right thing – if they think the other person might be better off without 'em.'" _**

Koval leans closer into the screen.  

**_"Thus, if you are determined to hate anyone, it should be me, sa-kai.  For I am the reason we were not truly raised as brothers."_**

No, no, no.  I could never hate you.  

**_"It is illogical, and unnecessary for you to blame my parents for their actions.  If, however, you are tempted to remain angry, please remember this: every mistake my mother and our father have made has been in an attempt to protect someone else from hurting. For that reason alone, they do not deserve your anger.  Their mistakes may have cost great pain and loss to you.  I, myself, ache with regret that I was forced to keep the true nature of our brotherhood a secret from you.  However,  they have ached more than you, or I, or even more than the Admiral.  In one moment, they were given paradise, and chose, for entirely selfless reasons, to sacrifice that paradise to protect others._**

**_They sacrificed more than you – or I – shall ever lose._**

**_Live long, and prosper, sa-kai"_**

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*************~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

I've laid here for a full hour, thinking about Koval's message.  Damnit, I want so much to stay angry at Dad for pushing Koval off on to the Admiral.  But I can't.  Because I keep hearing Koval's explanation, and Dad telling me, "I thought I was doin' the right thing, Charlie. I thought it was honorable."  

Ironic, really, that he told Koval very nearly the same thing. I wonder how long it took Dad to realize how much the "honorable" and "right" thing was hurting his son. 

Strange how grief can just make you remember all sorts of bizarre shit, isn't it? 

********************************

_"It's okay, Koval. I'm sure the Admiral didn't mean it," my father is attempting to comfort a clearly hurt eight year old Koval.  The memory is of one of the few times the Admiral came fishing with us. This time he brought along a colleague of his, Admiral Nyota, who had been full of plans for both young Koval and I – plans that included Starfleet.  Even then, Koval had been adamantly opposed to the idea of joining Starfleet. He had told Nyota in no uncertain terms that Starfleet was a "ethnocentric" organizations for humans.  When Nyota had responded that he was human, Koval had shaken his head and declared that he was a Vulcan only.  _

_"Don't you dare baby him, Trip.  I don't care if he's a Vulcan or not, he's going to learn some manners."_

_"Admiral, don't you think you're over-reacting just a –"_

_"Why don't you just worry about your own son?"_

_"I am worried about my son and yours – which is a hell of a lot more than you are."  _

_"I don't need child care advice from you.  Come on, Koval, we're going home."_

********************************

I cried all the way home from that trip.  Come to think of it, Dad did too.  I guess my tally was wrong – I've seen Dad cry three times.  Once when Grandpa Tucker died, once when I fell off the roof, and once when Archer was being a shitty father to Koval.

"No, kiddo, it's me that's sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done, everything I didn't do, and I'm sorry for havin' to go."  That's what Dad said, and now I understand why. 

God, Koval was right.  All this time that Dad had to watch another man raise his son, and the very man that was loving his soulmate, must have had him on the verge of going crazy.  And if T'Pol loved my father a shred of the amount that he loved her, she had to be going crazy too. 

Maggie was right, too.  I have been a selfish ass.  But that's going to end right now.  Reaching for a fresh PADD, I begin to compose my very first letter to Dad in six months.  As I write, I find myself aching for this tour of duty to end.  Now that I've realized my mistake, I can't wait to get home to see my family.  

Still six months to go.  

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*************~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

***_Six Months Later. . . *_**

Did I mention that I hate reporters? Because I do, particularly when I have to wade through them to get to my shuttle.  There had better not be any on Vulcan when I get there.  

There won't be, there can't.  After all, there are some things even over zealous reporters fear.  T'Pau is one of them.  One of the few, apparently.  

"Lieutenant Tucker!" one of them calls out.  Hell if I can tell which one.  Another one, or possibly the same one, calls out, "How do you feel about your father and Ambassador T'Pol?

I don't say, "They've been bonded for eleven months, don't you have anything else to report on?"  I just keep walking, hating reporters more and more.  

I just want to go home. Is that too much to ask?

"Lieutenant Tucker, are you on still on speaking terms with your father?"

Okay, that one was a little too close to home.  Still walking, I ask in frustration, "What the hell kind of question is that?" 

"You haven't made any type of statement since the Ambassador's divorce.  Speculation –"

"Speculation is bullshit.  I love my father, my mother, and both their spouses very much. Of course we're on speaking terms." 

They don't need to know, of course, that we weren't up until five months ago.  

"But how do you feel about the rapid remarriage so soon after Admiral Archer's divorce?" 

Maybe if I give them one little quote, they'll leave me the hell alone? Coming to a stop – an action that gets several lights shone directly in my face, thereby re-enforcing my hatred of reporters, I offer my opinion.  "In the end, their previous marriages brought a sad, lonely life for T'Pol and a stressful, doomed life for Dad. Here's hoping life with Dad and T'Pol together has lots of love, laughter, humor, conflict, affection, sex, friendship, logic, emotion, and talk about humans and Vulcans. As far as I'm concerned, after all they've been through, Dad and T'Pol, deserve to have it all!"  

Taking advantage of their stunned silence, I make a run for the shuttle and reach the safety of the inside just minutes before the vultures outside do.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*************~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Four hours later, as I walk in the front door of the house Dad and T'Pol share, the first sound that I hear is a baby's wail.

I can't help but smile.  The kid has a temper.  That has the potential to be a good deal of fun.  Koval never really had a temper.  

"I will announce your presence, Mr. Tucker," the housekeeper offers. 

"No, no, that's alright. I think I can find them okay on my own."  

Following the continual howls of the newest member of my family, I come upon a large nursery.   Walking in, I see Dad clutching the baby protectively while searching frantically for something.  

"Shh.  It'll be alright.  I'm looking for Mr. Tulok, kiddo.  Did I mention you get that temper from your mother's side of the family?"

"What exactly are you looking for?" I ask from the doorway.

Noticing me for the first time, Dad looks up and the smile that crosses his face is so wide, I can't help but feel guilty for the six months I refused to speak to him. 

"Charlie! It's good to see you.  I'm looking for a stuffed Seh'let by the name of Mr. Tulok.  It's as long as my arm, and the baby can't sleep without it."

"Well, let me take the baby, and you can keep looking for Mr. Tulok."  

Taking the baby from Dad, I gaze into the large Tucker blue eyes and am certain that I am holding the most absolutely beautiful baby ever to be born.  True, she's still screaming at the top of her lungs, but it's a beautiful, healthy sight.  Ruffling the top of her light brown head lightly, I pull her close enough to survey those adorable pointed ears.  

She stops screaming long enough to give me a questioning glance.  I'm pretty sure she's asking if _I _have Mr. Tulok, because when  it becomes obvious that I do not, she begins screaming anew. 

"Here ya go, pumpkin," Dad says presently, presenting her with what has to be the ugliest toy I've ever seen. But she apparently loves it, as her chubby little fists reach for it, and her wails turn to what I could swear were giggles. 

Taking Seleya from me and placing her in the crib, Dad remarks, "Don't look so surprised.  Koval used to laugh and cry when he was a baby too.  She could still turn out to be completely dedicated to the path of Surak."

At the mention of Koval, my heart sinks.  "I miss him," I say softly to Dad.

"I miss him too."

"I missed you."

"And I missed you."  

Koval, if your katra is anywhere within hearing distance, thank you.  I love Dad too much to have spent the rest of my life without him.  When that realization hits , I reach for Dad, and pull him into the tightest hug I can.  Maggie told me once that Reed men don't show affection for one another.  Am I ever glad I wasn't born a Reed.

We pull apart, and Dad says, "How long you stayin'?"

"I have six weeks off before my next assignment.  I was going to try to spend some of it with Mom, but apparently she and Alan took a second honeymoon to Risa and won't be back for three months."

"Well, good for her.  I'm glad to hear she's doin' well."

"Not as well as you and T'Pol," I tease gently, gesturing to Seleya.  "Really, Dad, I never thought at twenty-nine I'd have a baby sister."

"Trust me, I never thought I'd have another baby at this age either."

"Hey, it's not the twenty-first century, Dad.  You aren't *that* old."

"Gee, thanks."

Our banter is interrupted by the calm irritation of T'Pol's voice.  "Has Seleya completed her nap?"

Dad has the good grace to look guilty.  "Er. . . no, T'Pol.  Charlie just arrived, and –"

"I'm sorry, T'Pol.  I was just in such a hurry to see the baby that I didn't think of her nap schedule."

Her voice softens, a habit she has picked up from too much time with humans, no doubt.  "It is understandable, Charlie.  Perhaps while she naps, you would like to visit Maggie and Tegar."  

"That sounds like a plan."  

"Come on, kiddo, I'll walk you there," Dad volunteers.  Leaning down to kiss the baby gently on the forehead, he whispers, "Sleep tight, Seleya Elizabeth Tucker. Be a good girl for Mommy while Daddy and Charlie are gone, okay?"

Seleya just coos her reply.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*************~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Frankly, the walk to Maggie's house kicks my ass.  This Vulcan air simply wasn't made for my puny human lungs.   

"So, how is teaching Warp Drive to Vulcans?"

Dad laughs. "Oh, it's incredible.  If someone had told me during my days on _Enterprise__. . .__ " his_ voice trails off.  

"You haven't heard from him, have you?" 

"No."  

Neither of us say Archer's name, and we don't have to.  We both know who we're talking about.  

"I don't blame him, of course.  It's because of me that Koval's . . . gone."

"Dad, stop it.  Koval chose not to meld with Archer-"

"Because he was trying to keep all of us from getting hurt.  And you know something, Charlie? As happy as I am to be with T'Pol – as complete as I feel – I still have to live with the knowledge that my son sacrificed his life in vain." 

"I wouldn't say that.  Inadvertedly,  Koval's death brought you and T'Pol together.  That may not have been what Koval intended, but let me tell you, he would have been ecstatic to see it happen.  I'd hardly call that a sacrifice made in vain."

When Dad turns to me and smiles, it occurs to me that I've seen him look so happy. . . so content in all the time I've been alive. 

I'm glad he – and T'Pol – finally found the happiness they were looking for.  I'm only sorry that Koval isn't here to see it with me.  

~~~

To Be Continued in the Epilogue. . . 

** 

A/N:  Charlie's line beginning, "In short. . . " and ending in "deserve it all!" Is taken, almost word for word, with express written permission from Myst from a comment about "Twilight" she made long, long ago while _Unfulfilled_ was still being written.  Thanks again, Myst!  Which means, of course, that I knew how the story was going to end back when some of you, um, were disgruntled about the original ending.  Does that make me a sadist? :)


	16. Epilogue: TripT'Pol's POVs

Fulfilled

Epilogue 

_Trip/T'Pol POVs_

_~~_

 ***Seven Years Later***

*************~~~~~~~~~~~~*************

***Trip's POV***

_~~_

This scenario should be routine.  How many times over the past eight years have T'Pol and I stood in this very kitchen preparing our meals together?

Then again, how many meals did we miss in the twenty-five years prior to that? Maybe that's why watching T'Pol boil the tea leaves while I attempt – poorly – to peel the plomek will never become routine.  Every single time, from now until the day I die, I will treat this opportunity as the special gift I know it to be.  Any time I start to take it for granted, all I need to do is remember the quarter of a century I was denied the simple pleasure of watching her eat.  It would sound silly to most people, I suppose.  But, hell, I fell in love with T'Pol the first time watching her eat across from me at the Captain's Table.  So, it makes perfectly good – _logical –_sense that I take such joy in watching her be around food now.

Of course, there's such a thing as too much joy, particularly when I'm wielding a rather large Butcher knife against an especially stubborn stalk of plomek.  Because my finger is no way near as stubborn, I really should have reigned my joy in long enough to let concentration guide the knife.  

T'Pol senses the pain through our bond and is at my side even before the curse leaves my mouth.  "Let me see how deeply you have cut yourself," she instructs.

"I'm fine, T'Pol," I argue feebly as she uses her superior Vulcan strength to wrestle my left hand out of my right hand's protective grasp.  She surveys the cut for a minute before turning her head in a not-quite-disapproving-but-still-a-damn-good-imitation-of-it shake. Grasping me by the wrist, she begins to move towards the sink.  Since a good deal of pain is all I have to gain by remaining in my place, I follow willingly.  

"I can do that, ya know," I remark as she lifts the dermal regenerator from its holding cell on the wall above the faucet.  

Ignoring my comment, she replies, "Once again I feel compelled to contact Phlox and thank him for his gift."

"Yeah, it comes in handy."

"I imagine he knew that it would.  I have told him of your stubbornness concerning the lirp'ata and the plomek."  After running a finger over the place where the cut used to be, T'Pol releases my finger.  Now that both my hands are free, I take the opportunity to wrap both my hands around T'Pol's waist.  

"Now why is it being stubborn just because I want to help my bondmate make dinner?" I murmur into her ear.  

"Because you are not skilled at using the tool necessary to complete the task," T'Pol answers as she wraps her own hands around my neck.  

"I know.  But I want to learn how. It's important to me, T'Pol."  

"Is there a good logical reason why you cannot simply prepare the side dishes?"

Stopping my tasting of her earlobe, I look seriously into her face.   "Yes, there's a very logical one.  My daughter and my bondmate are both Vulcan and plomek is a staple of their diets.  That's my reason."  And I will, too.  Even if it takes me another eight years.

Her left eyebrow twitches.  "That is not logical in the least.  It is highly emotional, though. . . . it is appreciated."

I start to reply, but my voice is drowned out by the I start to reply, but my voice is drowned out by the sound of Seleya's voice, signaling her return home.  

"We're in the kitchen, Seleya," I call out, unwrapping myself from T'Pol.  Not that we don't show affection in front of our daughter, because we do.  It just happens that Seleya's arrival reminded us both how far we are from finishing the actual task at hand. 

*_I expect you'll  continue your ministrations several hours from now,* _T'Pol instructs over our bond.

*_You can count on it.*_

"Good evening, Seleya.  How did your meditation tutoring go?" T'Pol asks, as she begins preparing the salad.  After swooping down and giving my daughter a kiss on the forehead, I return to the plomek, my determination renewed.  

*_Please do not injure yourself again.  You shall  need your hands to fulfill your promise.*_

_*I'll be careful with the butcher knife, T'Pol.*_

*_It is a lirp'ata, Trip.*_

_*Cuts like a Butcher knife.*_

"It did not proceed very well, Mother."  Seleya pulls out a stool and sits down with a heavy sigh.  "I do not believe I am going to be a very good Vulcan, Mother," she adds before placing her head in her arms on top of the table.  She looks so pitiful I almost abandon what I'm doing long enough to comfort her.  

But, no, this is a Vulcan issue.  That's strictly T'Pol's territory.  

"Why do you believe yourself to be lacking in your Vulcan heritage?" 

"I had a difficult time concentrating during my meditation session today."

"During the course of your life, that will sometimes occur.  It will occur most frequently when you are deeply . . . . disconcerted about something."

Seleya looks up at her mother with complete and utter surprise.  "You've had trouble meditating, Mother?"   I restrain a laugh.  Seleya practically worships T'Pol.  It's never entered her mind that T'Pol might have any difficulties.  I can't wait until the teenage – I-hate-you-and-you-know-nothing stage.  Then again, maybe the kid's Vulcan half will save her – and us.   

"Yes.  All Vulcans do at some point, particularly when they are having an especially taxing time suppressing your emotions in the first place.  In my case, the cause is typically your father."

"Hey!" 

*_Concentrate on the plomek, t'hy'la.*_

"But, Soval says –"

"Soval is a wise Vulcan, and you can learn much from him.  However, in life you will most likely do many things that he will disapprove of."

"So. . . I can just ignore him?"  Poor kid. She sounds so hopeful.

"I did not say that.  However. . . if I had listened to all of Soval's advice, you would not be in existence."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't listen to him, then," Seleya declares.

"As am I."

"Worked out pretty good for me, too," I chime in, which earns me a glare from T'Pol.  

*_Concentrate.*_

_*I AM.*_

"I suspect your difficulty in meditating can be traced to your continual displeasure that Tegar is visiting Earth and you are not?"

For a very brief moment, I'm pretty sure the path of Surak is the furthest thing from my youngest child's mind, if the scowl that crosses her face is any indication.  "Charlie is MY brother," she says angrily.  "Not Tegar's.  He should have taken me to Earth with him instead."

"Honey, Charlie took you to the Federation History Museum on his last break," I point out gently, earning me a look of utter betrayal.  

"Indeed.  He simply believed that it would have been appropriate to spend an equal amount of time with Tegar."

"I know.  But I _like _Uncle Malcolm, and we do not see him very much at all," she pouts.  "He tells the most interesting stories – well, yours are better, of course, Father, but Uncle Malcolm tells intriguing stories as well."

"Such as what?" I ask, simultaneously sending a message to T'Pol.  *_I'm done peeling.  All I have to do now is chop.*_

_*I am pleased your fingers escaped without a second injury.*_

"Uncle Malcolm tells stories about Robin Hood . . . Oh! My favorites are about King Arthur and his knights," Seleya relates happily, momentarily forgetting her determination to be as Vulcan as possible.  Then she frowns.  "That was a highly emotional sentence.  I think I will attempt once again to meditate before dinner."

"Very well.  Be advised, however, that I will continue to cherish you whether or not you chose to follow the path of Surak," T'Pol answers smoothly. 

"That is very fortunate, Mother, as the path is quite difficult for me to follow."

*************~~~~~~~~~~~~*************

***_T'Pol's__ POV*_**

Several minutes have passed since Seleya departed for her room.  That particular child is having a much more difficult time with her heritage than my son did.  With each increasing day, I find myself more gratified that I am currently bonded to a man who will be much more understanding than my previous husband. 

Trip and I have heard from Jonathan only once in the eight years that we have been bonded.  Six months after Seleya was born, his office sent a congratulatory note on her birth.  Coming addressed to "Ambassador T'Pol and Commissioner Tucker (Ret.)," it was strictly an official notice, and only two sentences long.  Given the amount of emotional sentiment Jonathan is capable of, the lack of emotion in the letter was quite telling.  I understand his reasoning, and do not blame him, though I do wish circumstances were different, for my husband's sake.  While I considered Jonathan a friend, Trip has faced the one fear that initially separated us: he has lost his friend.  

"Would you prefer baked fruit or fresh fruit for dessert?" I ask my husband.  For a minute there isn't a reply and I turn to face him.  I find him to still be looking after the direction in which Seleya departed up the stairs, with a wistful expression upon his face. 

*_T'hyl'a__?*_

He turns in my direction, then, forcing a smile.  "Sorry, T'Pol.  Did you say something?"

"I inquired what type of dessert you preferred."

The smile he flashes this time is one which alerts me to the upcoming plea.  "Pecan pie?"

"No."

"Key lime?"

"No.  You are well aware that our family's consumption of pie is limited to once a month."

"It's had to have been at least one month since – "

"You have an additional three days, t'hy'la."

"All right.  Fresh fruit, then."

I turn to prepare the fruit, while my bondmate places the plomek in the cooking container.  As he nears me, I sense something not quite. .  right.  

"What is bothering you?"  I inquire.

"Nothin', T'Pol. Why'd you ask?"

"I can sense it through our bond."

"I was just thinking. .  . about King Arthur.  Do you know the story?"

"I assume you are referring to Guinevere and Lancelot?" The connection is an easy one to make.  

"Yeah. . . . I mean, I'm happy and everything, but . . . "

"But you have lost your Arthur," I supply. 

"Just like Lancelot," he replies.  

"On the contrary, if the analogy is to hold, it is I who hold the position of Lancelot," I correct gently.  "According to the story, Lancelot was an outsider – as was I – whose entry into Camelot ultimately severed the relationship of a relationship believed to be impenetrable."

"So. . . I'm _Guinevere?"  _My bondmate's face twists into a genuine smile as he questions it, and I can feel his amusement flood our bond.

"You are, if the analogy is to be a complete one," I reply.  

My bondmate eases himself onto the counter top, though there are plenty of stools for his behind to occupy instead.  "You know, something, T'Pol? When I was on Kowl, I had some diplomatic dealings with the Potonians.  Have you dealt with them before?"

"I have not."

"Well, the Potonians believe that, in the beginning of time, their gods took one male and one female and separated them by thousands of miles with instructions to find one another.  Each time the couple got close to finding each other, the Potonian gods through up something else in their way – mountains, trees, monsters ,you name it – but the Potonians refused to give up.  Eventually, they came together atop Mount Tolol, and when the gods saw that the distance each had traveled was equal to the other, they relented and allowed the couple to remain together.  To this day, the Pontonians take a vow to always, 'meet in the middle,' when they are married."

"That creation myth is one of the more lively accounts I have heard, but I fail to see –"

"We met in the middle, T'Pol.  A whole lot of crap was thrown our way ,but we overcame it.  Come to think of it, Guinevere and Lancelot never did, so I guess we aren't very much like them at all."

"Perhaps."

"It's a good thing, actually.  I'd make a pretty bad nun."  He slides himself off the counter and walks in the direction of his den.   As I watch him go, I can only be reminded of the contentedness I experience in his presence.  If pressed, I would admit that happiness is no longer the one human emotion that remains elusive.  Wherever Jonathan Archer may be, I hope he is likewise as content.  

Turning back towards the half-way prepared fruit, I decide that perhaps my family can have their pie three days ahead of schedule.

*************~~~~~~~~~~~~*************

The End. 


End file.
